Caught in the Undertow
by paisleygirl
Summary: "What the hell Rogers!" Clint yelled angrily, dropping down from God knows where and landing next to Iron Man's sprawled form. "Jesus Christ, did you even pull that punch?" He asked, no longer quite yelling, but certainly no less angry. Or an angsty love story where Tony gets hurt, Steve is an idiot, JARVIS is a BAMF, and the others try and help them figure it out. M/M. STONY
1. Chapter 1

**WARNINGS:** This is a slash pairing between two men and rated M. There are also mentions of child abuse and partner violence (see summary) so if either of those are triggers for you please turn back or proceed with caution.

**A/N:** This story was conceived pre IM 3 and written (mostly) pre CA 2 so it isn't compliant with either.

"What the _fuck_ Rogers!" Clint yelled angrily, dropping down from God knows where and landing next to Iron Man's sprawled form. "Jesus Christ, did you even pull that punch?" He asked, no longer quite yelling, but certainly no less angry.

Everything was moving in slow motion, hazy and surreal. Steve's arm was still outstretched, across his body in follow through of the punch. Clint's words, and the fact that he had called him Rogers, not Cap or Captain while still in the field, took a moment to borrow through the resounding buzz in his brain, but as comprehension slowly came to light, Steve pulled his arm back towards his body, noticing with horror the shredded leather glove and the blood and scrapes on his knuckles.

It had been only moments, but Steve was trying to swallow down the rush of adrenalin and understand what had just happened, to believe that yes, he had completely lost control. The evidence was irrefutable; his hand was sore, torn and bloody, Tony was on the ground, spread eagle and unmoving and Clint was hovering over the familiar form encased in red and gold, one hand trying to get to Tony's neck and the other hovering over the small communicator in his ear, simultaneously calling for medics, trying to check for a pulse and glaring murderously at Steve.

Shaking his head in an effort to clear the haze, Steve looked from Clint to Tony, his mind rebelling from the facts of what had just happened. Bile rose in his throat, too thick and bitter to dispel in one swallow. It quickly replaced the adrenalin, as the truth of the situation sunk in. He had hit his friend, his teammate, his...lover (for lack of a better term) and he had hit him with nearly the full force of his superhuman strength.

The armor's faceplate was almost completely raised, though Steve was absolutely certain it hadn't been when he'd drawn his arm back for the blow. Regardless, it was raised now, sleek and undamaged, in a mocking parody of the face it had shielded moments ago. Now the sections of Iron Man's helmet extending from his temple to his chin, normally a means of protection and support, were crushed against Tony's face, _into_ Tony's face. Twisted armor pierced the soft flesh at his hairline, cheekbone and jaw like some horrible metal claw ripping flesh and most likely the bone beneath. Blood was pooled around the ragged wounds and crimson droplets were spattered on the side of his nose, in his eyelashes and on his lips.

Steve wanted to turn away, to run, to be anywhere but here. His breath was coming in short, shallow gasps as the last of the adrenaline finally drowned in the sour acid, and the full and untainted reality of the scene became clear. Guilt quickly combined with the fury from minutes ago causing an intense wave of nausea to settle in his stomach, forcing him to double over. He needed to calm down and think; now was not the time to sort through the myriad of emotions racing through him. He was a leader due to his ability to compartmentalize and it was high time he get on with that. Tony was wounded, possibly critically, because of him.

"Pulse?" Bruce asked, sprinting past Steve and dropping to the ground beside Clint.

"Weak, I think, but…yes? I can't reach inside enough to really check without moving the helmet. He's not breathing normally though, we have to get the armor off before—in case he needs CPR any time soon." Clint's voice was steady, but Steve could see the fear in his eyes, even through the deadly glare fixed on him.

With an almost dizzying speed the soldier part of the supersoldier serum kicked in. His mind lurched into command mode and he would wait until later to dwell on the fact that Hawkeye had gotten there so much quicker than he had, both mentally and physically. A teammate was down, field triage was being done, medics were on their way and the scene had already been cleared before the…altercation.

As Banner and Barton methodically searched the armor for a release, trying not to move Tony at all, Steve took a step closer and said more softly than intended, "JARVIS?"

No response came from the suit. Steve wasn't sure if the faceplate needed to be intact for JARVIS to respond or if maybe the AI was damaged by the…attack. God, that thought had him reeling. He couldn't dwell on that, not now, he had to concentrate.

"JARVIS?" He tried once more, in what he hoped was a more authoritative tone, though it was possibly laced with impending panic and the need to vomit… and still no response.

"Right, Christ….I forgot about JARVIS." Clint had barely finished speaking when the cool, clipped and distinctly British response came.

"I am assisting you now Agent Barton."

"JARVIS, thank God, are you releasing the armor somehow? We need to get it off him."

There was a very faint click and even fainter whirring sound as the Iron Man suit seemed to expand minutely. "Carefully locate the small lever inside, just above the chest plate. The helmet should not be removed until medical assistance is on the scene, ETA is forty-five seconds."

Steve might be naive, but he wasn't stupid. JARVIS had blatantly ignored him…twice. He knew the AI's first, and only really, loyalty was to Tony, and he knew JARVIS had a personality that could mirror his maker's at times, snarky, temperamental, and sarcastic. But Tony's life could be on the line and JARVIS had refused to even acknowledge him. He had responded to Barton, yes, but what if no one else had been on the scene, what then?

He didn't have time to ponder the answer, or the surge of amalgamated guilt/anger at his own question as the medical transport screeched to a stop nearby and he heard the medics rushed approach. Clint assisted in pulling the armor pieces free as the medics skillfully lifted Tony onto a stretcher. Steve was rooted to the spot, unable to force himself to move and help…this was his fault; he had done this and that was something he hadn't thought himself even capable of.

Snapping out of it, Steve took a step to follow, but was halted abruptly by Clint's palm, held up in the universal symbol for stop, and his unmistakable 'don't mess with me right now or I'll put an arrow through your eye' scowl. _Jesus, _what the hell had he done? Tony was hurt, very hurt and both the archer and the artificial intelligence seemed not to be speaking to him, and that was putting it so, so mildly.

"Captain?" Natasha's sharp tone pulled him from his thoughts, God he was a mess right now, but he turned and nodded a quick response to indicate that she had his attention.

"Hawkeye and Banner are riding with Stark, he's in good hands." Steve thought he could hear the unspoken _now _at the end of her statement. "Let's get this armor locked down and back to the tower. Stark will kill us if we leave it to S.H.E.I.L.D to take care of." She continued matter-of-factly, in that detached, professional way she had in the field, and out of it, if truth be told.

He wanted to argue, to go to HQ right away with Tony. But Natasha was right about the Iron Man armor. Tony would never forgive them…forgive him, if they left it to Fury's men. He was aware enough of the situation to realize he would need Tony's forgiveness for at least one thing that happened today. Every other event from the day threatened to derail his progress, creep back into the forefront of his mind and demand to be recognized and dealt with. He would make time for that soon, but Tony first.

The complete irony of that thought did not escape him.

He and Natasha didn't speak at all as they underwent the task or reassembling and securing the Armor. It wasn't until the familiar form had been loaded into a S.H.I.E.L.D. transport and the shaking agent had handed her the keys to the vehicle and quickly stepped away that she softly touched Steve's arm and asked, even more gently, "Are you okay?"

He really wasn't. He scrubbed a hand over his face in an effort to collect himself before replying.

"Not really—no." There were so many different thoughts going on inside him that he didn't know how he felt, but okay wasn't even on the list.

"Do you want to talk about it Steve?" Natasha asked on the drive to the tower. She hadn't addressed him as captain, and he knew her well enough to see that she was upset, there was no mistaking that, but she was giving him the chance to explain before passing judgment.

"No. Yes…" He wasn't even sure how to begin.

"Okay, I'll start," she said, sensing his loss for what to say and how much she actually knew. "I know something has been going on between you two for the past few months. He's been different...better. I don't mean a better person; he's still a bit of an asshole and a shameless egomaniac, but better about the showboating, the unnecessary risks in the field, and better at following orders." She arched an immaculate eyebrow, "well, your orders not Fury's, of course."

"I just—just lost it. I didn't mean to hit him so hard, and I swear his faceplate was down, he should have stumbled, or fallen maybe, but I thought the suit would protect him." It sounded like such a lame excuse even to his own ears, but maybe getting it out verbally would help with the underlying burn of nausea. Not that he thought he deserved to feel better, but telling the truth, no matter how weak it seemed now was the right thing to do. "He makes me so angry sometimes, and confused…he knows what to say and how to push, and he just keeps prodding until I stop bending, he knows just how far to go until I push back until one of us breaks. Today it was me who broke, but I never meant for this to happen." It all came out in a rush, guilt spilling out freely before he was even aware that he planned to say anything of the sort.

"You two have been at each others throats before, and trust me, I know what it feels like to want to punch Stark in the face, but today was different. His comm. was still on Steve, I heard what he said, and I don't see how Tony telling you he loves you or making disparaging comments about Howard or himself is different from any other day." He flinched away from the window as she passed a double parked car with barely inches to spare, but she must have thought he was flinching at her words, because she sighed loudly and continued, "okay, maybe it was a bit more of a rant than usual, and the real sentiment was buried deep beneath his self-deprecating bullshit and insults" she conceded as she ran a yellow light and swerved around an over eager pedestrian before turning to him again. "But it's not my business unless you want it to be."

"He's never said that to me before, well some of the stuff about Howard yes, but not I—the other thing." He let his head fall back against the headrest and sighed deeply. "Howard is always such a raw nerve for Tony, like he just can't accept the fact that we were friends…could he really have changed that much?"

"Steve—"

"I mean, you say you heard him. He said Howard was a bully—a bully Natasha. I knew him and I know Tony and if I had to say which one I thought was the bigger bully it wouldn't be Howard." He just couldn't imagine the elder Stark being anything but intelligent, concerned and helpful. He had cared so much about protecting the soldiers with newer and better weapons, about helping Peggy and himself and his men, had comforted Steve after Bucky died. Sure, maybe he had been busy when Tony was growing up, working hard and expecting the same of his brilliant son, but did that warrant Tony's absolute disdain for the man? Maybe Howard had been unwilling to deal with his son's enormous ego, or support the partying and carousing, but did that make him a bad man, a bully? After getting to know him, he couldn't really accuse Tony of it either, but it had been rough in the beginning. That was as much his fault too, he realized, but the younger Stark's personality was certainly a lot more uncompromising than his father's.

"Steve," Natasha said again, then paused to see if he would let her continue this time. "A lot of time passed between the version of Howard that you knew and the one that Tony did. People change and it isn't always for the better." She sighed deeply, but continued quickly, not wanting this to be a debate about Howard Stark. "Is that all this is about?"

He knew what she was asking, and he wasn't sure he wanted to tell her about that, but he _was_ sure that sooner or later he would want—need someone to talk to. She was most likely his only option. Clint and Tony were very close recently and the archer hadn't needed words to relay just how upset he was at Steve. Bruce was a question mark; there was always the chance of him hulking out when one of his teammates was hurt, especially at the one who had done the hurting. Thor was away, in either New Mexico or Asgard, he wasn't sure which this time or when he would return. By default, he decided to trust her with this. He thought what was between he and Tony was private, but there was nothing he could do about the fact that the others now knew, and he didn't want to go back to the way it had been just after he'd woken up, lonely and stricken with grief and no one to really talk to about it, about anything. Natasha was his friend, one of the few he'd had in a very long time.

"You're right; there has been something between us for a while now." He took a deep breath; surprised that it felt good to finally tell someone. "I was wrong about what I said to him that day on the helicarrier, he is a hero and he is willing to sacrifice himself, more than necessary actually."

She snorted, quite unladylike really, then smiled. "Yeah, I know what you mean." She didn't say anything else, but the quirk of her lip told him she expected him to continue.

"I was—am attracted to him. He's an attractive man, most of the time." And he really, really was, whether wearing an immaculately tailored suit or ripped, oil-stained jeans and a ratty rock band t-shirt, but sometimes the things that came out of his mouth made him a little less attractive. "I kissed him one day in his lab. His eyes were so bright and playful and his body was literally vibrating with laughter and energy and I couldn't help myself. The real surprise was the way he kissed me back." Steve took a moment to smile at the memory, a smile that didn't go unnoticed by Natasha.

_He had just wanted to come and thank Tony for the amazing punching bag recently installed in the gym. The inventor hadn't said anything about it, but Steve knew it could only be from him. Four days, nearly fourteen hours of hard, serum enhanced workouts hadn't left the bag looking anything other than brand new. He could see Tony on the far side of the room talking animatedly to some robots, laughing and gesturing wildly as his creations wheeled around. When he turned at hearing someone approach, Steve's breath caught in his throat. Tony looked easier and happier than he'd ever seen him, but more than that, he saw something so familiar in the other man…something he missed sorely and longed for desperately. He was caught completely off guard by those big, dark eyes, so like Peggy's in the depth of their expression and steely glint of determination. At the same time like Bucky's too though, twinkling devilishly and full of mischief. And there was so much Howard there as well, an effortless and charismatic grace despite the manic energy radiating from him. In that moment Tony was so much like the people he missed most in this new world. For the first time in weeks the hollow ache in his chest loosened…he was completely mesmerized._

_ He knew he was staring and could see Tony start to shut down, transform back into the abrasive, confrontational person he had come to know. "Hey, Cap." Tony said brightly, striding towards him. "What brings you down here?" Then more agitated when no reply came, "and why are you staring at me…never seen a guy play Simon Says with his bots before?" Steve could hear the derisiveness creeping into the words and he didn't want that. He wanted the easy going, silly and strangely familiar Tony from moments ago._

"_Hel-lo, Captain Starstruck…"_

_ Tony was still walking towards him, mocking him now and he wanted to change that, wanted to see a glimpse of what he had before, needed to stop him from saying more and breaking the spell. He took a step forward, then another, meeting Tony half way. The smug look on the genius' face turned to one of confusion and then one of stunned disbelief as Steve reached out, placing his palm on the other's cheek and running his thumb back and forth over dark under eye circles. He could feel Tony gearing up to speak, something nasty most likely, but he held the smaller man's gaze as his hand slid into to the thick, dark waves, slowly pulling him forward. Steve only hesitated for half an instant, giving Tony the chance to back away. When he didn't, Steve leaned in the last few inches and kissed him. Good Lord, Tony's lips were so soft and incredibly warm despite the cool temperature of the room. Unsurprisingly, he tasted like coffee, but with an underlying hint of coconut. It was an interesting combination, and just about the best thing he'd ever tasted. Even if he'd tried, he couldn't stop himself from moving his free hand up to cup the other side of Tony's face, bringing him closer as Steve opened his mouth further in an effort to taste even more. _

_ A small moan came loose from his throat as Tony's hands found their way to his hips. His fingers were as warm as his mouth, spreading heat and initiating a sudden throb of lust. He was so out of his element, completely unprepared for the sensations threatening to overwhelm him. His previous experience with this was pitiful, but those few times had been similar to each other and had made up his entire working knowledge of intimacy with another person. This, kissing Tony Stark, wasn't even in the same hemisphere. When he had been kissed before, there had been either aggression or desperation or both as a motivating factor. This was slow, languid and indulgent and so surprisingly unlike the Tony he knew. He figured the playboy would be fast, pushy and all hands, but Tony was willingly taking, and wonderfully returning only what Steve was giving. He had never imagined that any kiss could be better than the one shared between him and Peggy, except maybe a longer, less goodbye like kiss with her._

_ Thinking about Peggy right then was like dousing himself with cold water, effectively chasing away the almost uncomfortable warmth between Tony and himself. He pulled first his lips and then his hands away from his teammate and took a step back to get himself in check. The look on the billionaire's face was captivating. He looked younger and so relaxed, those amazing eyes were sparkling. He needed to leave, now…_

"Anyways…" he paused to clear his throat, "he didn't push me away, and things grew from there. I really never meant for it to happen, it wasn't premeditated." He sighed deeply and ran a shaky hand through his hair. "Once, I just closed my eyes and woke up seventy years later... everyone I knew or loved was gone. I decided the day we sent Loki home with Thor that I wouldn't let chances pass me by again, I wouldn't be afraid of what I wanted from this new life, from my second chance. I just don't want to sit around and wait until the time is right anymore because that time may never come or everything could be gone when it finally does."

He was speaking in a rush again, embarrassed at having admitted his attraction and its results with a man, but Natasha had been one of the people to help bring him up to date on certain things, and homosexuality and its acceptance (mostly) had been something she emphasized as a positive. He knew it wasn't right though, and no matter how accepted it was, it was still a sin in the eyes of his church. That hadn't stopped him though, he had wanted to kiss Tony and he had.

"It's not a relationship, well, not that kind. It never was, I never intended for it to be and I don't think he did either. You know how Tony is with women, with relationships in general. It was casual, and not exclusive." They had never talked about that, but to him this was like some of the fellas during the war, seeking comfort in the arms of a friend. He had a hard time imagining that the playboy saw it any differently. Anyhow, he didn't have time right now for the finer details, a quick debrief of the situation would have to do, they were nearing the tower and he needed to have a conversation with JARVIS before he headed to HQ.

With renewed purpose he continued with the facts. "I met an agent at S.H.I.E.L.D a few weeks ago and today she kissed me after we left the conference room. Tony saw it, and he wasn't happy. That's why he said he loves me, but he didn't mean it. He was just reacting to the fact that someone might want more than just him, and his ego can't take it." He unbuckled his seat belt as she turned the car into the underground garage.

"I take those words very seriously, and he just throws them around as a mockery…that combined with his intentional taunts about Howard…" he trailed off, embarrassed, not wanting to finish the sentiment. She knew where he was going with it anyways and spared him a quick and possibly sympathetic glance as she parked the car, but made no movements other than shutting it off. He could feel her eyes on him again, but opened his door and moved to exit the car.

"Steve," she started, but he didn't wait to hear the rest. They could continue this later, after the armor was put away and he could see Tony for himself. Talking about this thing between them left him feeling edgy.

"I'll take this inside," he indicated the lifeless armor. "I need to have a word with JARVIS anyways."

Her face softened a miniscule amount before she said, "I'll wait ten minutes before I head to HQ to check on him. If you don't come back by then I assume I'll see you there later."

He gave a small nod instead of speaking and turned to the panel beside the door to the lab, placing his palm on the scanner. He wasn't sure if he even still had access, but he could speak to JARVIS from here if he had to, he just preferred a little more privacy.

Luckily the door slid silently open, but he knew it was more for the return of the armor JARVIS' creator coveted than an invitation for Steve. Even Dummy seemed unhappy with him. The robot usually came wheeling up joyfully, clicking and whirling about but now he merely lifted his head (claw?) briefly and then turned his back (strut?) on him. But this was one more thing he would push to the corners of his mind for now and pull out later to dissect in detail.

"JARVIS," he said sternly. He wasn't petty enough to argue with the AI, but he was angry and this was a sort of dressing down in the making. This was something they needed to work out. "Why didn't you answer me when Tony needed your assistance?"

"Sir received the necessary assistancedespite my lack of response to you Captain Rogers," came the reply, laced with contempt.

Steve took a moment to fully appreciate, yet again, Tony's brilliance that he could create what was essentially a machine but was so lifelike, so human. As far as he knew JARVIS was the only AI of his kind in the world, ridiculously advanced and equally as smart and sharp tongued as his creator. That didn't take the sting out of it though. JARVIS hadn't called him Captain Rogers in months. He was usually addressed as Steve in the tower and Captain in the field.

"Clint didn't even address you directly, he mentioned your name and you _chose_ to reply." Okay, so maybe he was feeling slightly more petty than usual. He shook the feeling off for now. "Regardless, what if Hawkeye hadn't been there…would you have helped me then? I need to know I can count on you when Tony is unresponsive."

"For your information, Captain Rogers…" there was no mistaking the venom in the tone, "I was already running scans on Sir, checking his vital signs to ascertain whether he would indeed require CPR as agent Barton mentioned. I was about to aid in the removal of the armor without your involvement_._ It appeared to me that you had _helped_ quite enough." And a very uncomfortable pause later, "And I was unsure if your presence was still a threat to Sir, seeing how it was you who brought about the event in question."

Wow. If JARVIS had a physical form, Steve would be stepping back from it now. This was more than learned anger and simulated feelings. There was undisguised hatred and possibly slightly disguised malice in every syllable. Even through his shock at being spoken to like that, Steve couldn't help feeling good that Tony had someone as amazing as JARVIS watching his back.

"Are you monitoring him now?" Steve asked contritely, none of the former authority in his voice. He wasn't too proud to admit that he had been the one to get the dressing down, in a way even Fury couldn't manage. He knew he deserved it too.

"I fail to see how that is any longer your concern, Captain Rogers." The dismissive statement told him all too clearly that this discussion was over. He could point out that despite his personal relationship, he was still the leader of this team and one of his men was down. Thinking about how that teammate had been downed, however, wasn't something he wanted to do or further discuss with the AI at the moment.

Besides, he knew it was as futile to argue with JARVIS as it sometimes was with Tony. He turned and exited the lab without further comment and raced down the stairs to catch Natasha.

oOoOoOo

Things at HQ were hectic; well, more hectic than usual. In light of the recent situation with Tony, Steve had almost forgotten about the attack that brought the Avengers out in the first place. Now agents were scurrying about, some with armfuls of paperwork or some form of tech and some with the telltale finger pressed to their ear indicating they were receiving information through their comms.

He and Natasha walked purposefully through the halls to the medical bay, occasionally having to move aside for a rushing agent or two. It was after one of those times, when they were pressed against the wall to clear the way for a group of running junior agents, that she lightly grabbed his wrist.

He looked down to where her long fingers were wrapped around him, then let his eyes rise to her face. Her expression gave nothing away, as usual, but she said in the soft voice she had used with him since the…well, since earlier, "He'll be okay—he's always okay, and he's been through some pretty horrible stuff."

She meant it too. Stark had survived so much, and had earned her grudging respect in the process. He would survive this too, because there was no way that bullheaded son of a bitch would let Steve get the last word in any argument. He put up such a front that it wasn't easy to get the make of him, know what made him tick, besides science, but she felt she knew him pretty well now. She would bet anything, and she'd never, ever lost a bet, that Tony had meant what he said to Steve. He was not, she was certain, the type to throw around words like "I love you." Not in that situation anyways…sure, to the coffee maker, his tailor, his robots or even Pepper or JARVIS on more than one occasion…but not with someone he was sleeping with. He was not intentionally hurtful with the handful of people he cared about. That didn't mean he wasn't a complete moron though.

She had watched Tony's eyes linger on Steve when he left the room and his straighter stance, softer features and crooked grin when Steve sat beside him in the briefing room, or on the couch, and she did know him well enough to see all the little things he tried so hard to hide. He was in love with their captain, and Steve had, so very literally, thrown it back in his face. But she knew Steve too, and he was obviously overwhelmed right now, angry and hurt and brimming with remorse. He was an even bigger idiot than Stark about this, but he hadn't meant to really hurt him.

"I hope so, Natasha…wait, worse than this?" Steve had read Tony's file, had read all their files on the tablet Agent Colson had presented him with. Tony's and Thor's were by far the thinnest, but he hadn't read anything that justified Natasha's statement. Tony wasn't exactly forthcoming with details of his life prior to joining the Avengers, always saying anything worth knowing was available on the internet. And all discussions of his youth inevitably ended with them arguing about Howard.

"Okay, maybe not worse, but bad. Most of it is in his—oh, right, Stark edits his own file on a frighteningly regular basis." There was a very slight upturn to the corner of her lip that he recognized as her fighting a smile. "No one here has been able to catch him when he hacks in, sometimes I think he does it just to piss Fury off and prove he's better than anyone here at that stuff."

"Yeah, that sounds like him." He actually wanted to smile too when he pictured Tony pulling one over on Fury like that, but he didn't. He couldn't help but remember that first day on the helicarrier, Tony's casual and total disregard for all things top secret.

"Afghanistan...and after, I'll get you a copy of his complete file, a paper copy, but don't tell him—ever, it stays between us that we keep up to date paper files on him around here, the computer files are more of a decoy really. Fury should have realized that." She was smiling now. "Can you picture how affronted he would be by something so "archaic"?

Now he couldn't help but return her smile. That would be a very comical look of shock and outrage on the otherwise handsome face of the futurist. He let his forehead fall against the wall, releasing a shaky breath. The thought of that handsome face brought with it a wave of guilt as the events of the day threatened, once again, to overcome him. He swallowed it down and set off towards the med bay, grateful when he heard Natasha move to follow without saying anything else.


	2. Chapter 2

**A/N: **Thanks so much to everyone who left feedback and followed/fav'd.

The change in atmosphere was instant when they entered the hospital wing. There were no scurrying agents, no echoing shouts, not even any one sided bits of conversation between agents and their comms. The only sounds were the low thrumming and whirring of machinery, possibly only audible due to his enhanced hearing, and the murmur of whispered conversation between Clint and Bruce seated in the far corner of the waiting area.

Bruce stood immediately upon seeing them. Steve couldn't help but notice the worry on the scientist's face. His brow was furrowed; the lines around his eyes tight and an obvious, anxious pull to his lips before he spoke.

"He's being taken into surgery, no other word yet." There was no indication in his tone of how bad things were, so he figured they would just have to wait it out. To say Bruce was stressed would be an understatement, but he appeared to be in control, which was very good because he was most likely the only one of them capable of understanding most of the finer detailed medical terminology and its implications. Steve knew Bruce and Tony were both scientists, and where Tony's expertise centered on mathematics and machines, Bruce was more of a physicist, but who, as far as Steve could tell, also had a vast working knowledge of biology and other organic things. The wet sciences Tony had said once, and Steve didn't really want to think too much about what that meant. And hadn't Natasha mentioned finding him treating the sick in India?

Clint was still seated, back bowed with his elbow on his knee and his forehead resting in the palm of his hand. His face was unreadable, but there was a slight tremble in his fingers. Steve could feel the tension and the anger rolling off the archer, and was glad when Natasha sped by him taking the seat next to Clint and rubbing small circles between his shoulder blades.

Steve felt like he should speak; like everyone was waiting for him to say something, to explain himself and hopefully ease the tension, but if not, then at least to address the elephant in the room.

"I—I'm…" he stammered and looked away from his teammates. He took a steadying breath, looked back to Natasha for support, unspeakably grateful for her tiny nod in return, and tried again. "I did this, and I accept full responsibility…and I'm sorry, I never meant for this to happen, never wanted to really hurt him." Sure, he had wanted to shut Tony up, make him regret the things he was saying. Instead, Steve had completely lost control, Tony was in surgery, Clint looked ready to kill him, and he wasn't man enough at the moment to even try to imagine what Pepper's reaction to him would be, never mind Col. Rhodes.

Clint sat up straight and brushed Natasha's hand away. "Yeah, well, you did!" The suppressed rage in his features was evident in his voice as well, but his mannerisms and body language were composed as he stood. "There is nothing you can say right now that will make this okay. No justification you can offer, or that we want to hear."

"Clint, hey," Bruce put a hand on the archer's arm as he moved towards Steve. They all needed to stay calm right now, the two other men in the room as much as himself. Natasha was always calm, at least outwardly.

"It's okay Dr. Banner. I deserve his censure, and yours too, but right now that won't help Tony." He shifted awkwardly, trying and failing not to glance at Clint, who looked just as livid as expected. He would deal with that later, like so many other things. Looking back to Bruce, he continued with his earlier train of thought. "Can you shed any light on the situation at all based on what you saw?"

"Well, I would guess some bones are fractured, but we'll have to wait and see about possible nerve damage or brain injury." Bruce knew how severe facial traumas of this nature could be, but he didn't want to scare his teammates unnecessarily. Steve had hit Tony hard and speculating about the worst case scenario results of that would probably lead to Clint losing the very fragile reign he had over his self control.

Worrying about someone else, one of the good guys, losing control and doing irreparable damage was something new and different for the doctor. He absolutely did not want to revisit the smug moment he'd had earlier at realizing someone else affected with the super-soldier serum, even someone as earnest and good as Steve, could lose it like that. He'd felt pretty guilty afterwards for even entertaining the thought.

Thankfully he was spared any further reflection by the arrival of a doctor. She wasn't the same one who had spoken to them before Tony went into surgery, but he would take news from anyone right now.

She looked pointedly at all four of them before speaking, lingering on the unbridled tension visible in every line of Clint's body. "He's in surgery, and will be for a while longer." She paused and waited for that to register before continuing, probably not wanting to get anyone's hopes up. "The soft tissue damage is extensive but secondary. Radiographs show four prominent facial fractures, but the cervical spine appears to be intact, which is very good news with injuries of this nature. Also, he is most likely concussed, at least, but there don't appear to be signs of lasting brain damage. We'll know more about that once he's conscious." Clint visibly sagged with relief hearing that they seemed sure Tony would regain consciousness.

"We've called in an oral and maxillofacial specialist who will be arriving any minute. Until he has a chance to examine Mr. Stark, I'm afraid I can't comment on the severity of his other injuries. I highly recommend you all get something to eat, and maybe clean up and rest a bit, it'll be a few hours at least before he's out of the O.R. and I have anything else to report."

Steve watched the doctor's retreat and waited until the door closed behind her before turning to the others. Natasha's lips formed a tiny and uncharacteristic 'o' of surprise, Bruce was rubbing his eyes and slowly shaking his head, no doubt running through a list of the possible "other injuries" mentioned by the doctor, and Clint looked downright vicious. The urge to vomit was back again, this time stronger than ever. His inability to control himself had led to this. He was the one who couldn't stop himself from kissing his friend in the first place. He was the one who pushed for things to go further and further between them as he explored intimacy, learning the wonders of sex. He was the one who had put that look on Tony's face earlier and then broken that same face only a short time later. He could have caused spinal injuries and possibly had caused brain damage and all of it because he had no self control when it came to Tony Stark.

Whatever he planned to say to the others was lost now, but it didn't really matter, what could he say? What words, what other explanations, could possibly be of use right now?

"We should debrief." Of course it was Natasha who spoke first. "Steve and I can do this if you don't feel up to it Dr. Banner. Clint, go home, clean up and I'll meet you there in an hour." Hawkeye looked ready to protest, but at the severe look on his fellow assassin's face he capitulated and walked away.

"Yeah, I'll head back too," Bruce said, picking at a spot of slimy grey ooze on his shoulder. "I want to analyze this stuff, see if JARVIS has anything…and I think I should call Ms. Potts." He turned to follow Clint, leaving Steve alone with Natasha in the overly bright room.

The debrief was possibly his shortest one yet. Fury read him the riot act about Tony, rightfully so, but he let Natasha move the session along so they could get back. Most of their team was absent, and the gooey, disgusting creatures they had battled this morning went down without much of a fight. Whoever created and let loose the foul creatures, however, was still at large. Fury had people working on that already, and until they had access to Tony's and JARVIS' scans and Dr. Banner's analysis there wasn't much to do about it at the moment. He said goodbye to Natasha, knowing she was headed back to join up with Clint, and she didn't push for him to tag along. He would clean up here, there were a change of clothes and a shower in the locker room, and he could grab something to eat in the mess hall—cafeteria.

He was alone now, something he had been looking forward to and dreading at the same time for hours. Entering the changing room, he stripped off his slimy uniform, stepped into the shower and let his thoughts run free at last. They immediately went to where this whole debacle began; his run in with Agent Bennett—Claire. They'd been talking by phone nearly every day for more than a week, and also enjoying coffee breaks and strolls through HQ together. It wasn't much, but it seemed like it could be the beginning of something, a courtship maybe. This morning she had wished him luck in the field and kissed him for the first time. It had felt like the time Private Lorraine kissed him, forced and hurried and…interrupted. That time Peggy had walked in on them and this time it had been Tony. It was like déjà vu; the unexpected kiss and even more unexpected interruption, and the anger aimed at him afterwards.

He had much more kissing experience now, and wasn't as easily overwhelmed. That should have made his first kiss with a woman since waking up in this century wonderful, but it had felt…odd. Maybe that's because it was at S.H.I.E.L.D where anyone could see them and not someplace they could linger, or maybe it's because he was, once again, caught off guard by it. He was hoping that kissing a woman now would feel a lot like kissing Tony had, wild and amazing, leaving him breathless and often dazed. If something as sinful as kissing another man had felt that good, he expected it to be even better when it was natural, as God intended.

He thought back to his first kiss with the genius, the first kiss he had ever initiated. When it ended and he'd practically fled the room, he had touched his lips over and over for a very long time. He recalled perfectly the tingling sensation that had stayed with him all through that evening, a warm, luxurious feeling that had made it impossible to leave them alone.

He had never once begrudged any of his men for letting off steam with another fella. He didn't condone it exactly and never did so himself, until recently that is. But if he was painfully honest with himself, he had to admit that he had looked a little and listened a lot to some of the illicit things going on around him. Maybe it was the act of committing a sin itself that was so thrilling, he had always toed the church line when it came to morality. He did swear on occasion, an inevitable consequence of being a soldier, but he did try to be good. Meeting Tony had changed a lot of that, he was unapologetic for his lifestyle and he exuded sexuality without even trying. It was something Steve never imagined he'd get caught up in, but his body traitorously reacted to his friend's harmless flirting often. He had never indulged the way Bucky or the rest of his men had, before the serum no one would really have him, and then he'd met Peggy Carter, and she was certainly worth waiting for. Now, though, there was no reason to wait, and his close friend was a master at no strings attached affairs.

Their trysts had been confusing to him at first, but, honestly, what wasn't in this new time? It had been so exciting, felt so good, and made him feel truly alive in a way he never had before. He figured if there was one person who would not judge him for a slip in morality, it would be Tony Stark.

Tony had explained so many things to him about this future; from the internet and cell phones to TiVo and the microwave. It was Natasha who tried to bring him up to speed on social changes, though, everything from equal rights for women and African Americans to some states allowing homosexual couples to marry. She explained about people who were bisexual, most likely because he'd had a few questions on the subject. He still figured any guy who liked women would chose one over a man any day though. In his experience all the men he had ever known to consort with someone of the same gender had never actually sought anything like a permanent relationship.

There were policy changes in the military she told him about, but not so much in the church. Many people now, she said, had sexual relations before they were married, multiple times even, and with multiple partners. It was a lot to take in, too many changes to absorb in such a short time, but over the past few months he had done some research on the internet. During those searches he read a lot about Tony and his casual attitude towards sex, his multitude (Steve had no desire to know the exact number) of partners and his complete lack of shame about it. That seemed the total opposite of the Tony from this morning.

"_Are you—are you seeing that woman Steve? Is there something you wanted to tell me, or were you planning to keep it a secret? Oh, wait—I get it, I'm the dirty little secret, right? The back room fuck no one needs to know about. Just another person using Tony Stark, sure, go ahead, he's only good for some brilliant math or a great lay anyways. No wonder you and my bastard of a father got along so well. He could never shut the hell up about you, and surprise, surprise, like father, like lab rat because you're just like him. Who the hell cares about how Tony feels? He's smart; he'll get over it, right? He's always such a disappointment, he doesn't deserve to be loved, or be in love, right? Well, fuck you both Steve. I love you, but I won't bend over backwards anymore to earn anything from you like I did with him, the complete dickhead of a bully you can't seem to go one day without glorifying. I thought you hated bullies Steve, hated to see the smaller guy get the shit end of the stick all the time. Christ, the two of you deserve each other…maybe you should have been fucking him…_

When Tony got going he could be unstoppable, it was abrasive and nearly impossible to get a word in. Lately Steve had learned how to launch a preemptive strike, kissing the inventor deep and hard before he could build up momentum, distracting the genius, and more often than not, himself. Sometimes though, like today, he spewed such vitriol that punching him seemed so much more attractive than kissing him, something had needed to be done to make it stop. Obviously the outcome wasn't what he intended. In hindsight the memory was even more upsetting; he hadn't imagined the brief flashes of deep hurt on the hero's face before they were quickly covered over with that hateful arrogant persona, and he also hadn't imagined the faceplate on the armor sliding over Tony's face as the last horrible taunt about Howard had been uttered. Why, then, had he raised it again? Apparently he had more to say on the subject.

He had thought about what it would mean if he started going steady with Agent Bennett, knew what he and Tony did together would have to stop, it wouldn't be fair to her, no matter what liberties other people took in this oversexed century. It was clear to him now that Tony had a problem with that, but what could he do? Isn't that what this casual sex thing was all about? Once you found someone special the other stuff had to stop right? If not, wasn't that still considered cheating? God this whole thing was confusing.

To add to his confusion Agent Bennett scurried up to him in the corridor on his way grab a quick bite to eat.

"Captain, how wonderful to see you again," She said politely, smiling and placing her small hand on his forearm. On any other day he would be happy to see her too, but there was so much going on inside his head that he knew he wouldn't be good company right now. Then again, none of this was her fault, it was his alone, and it would be rude to walk away from her. He had a little time to eat before heading back to the hospital wing, and maybe she was exactly the distraction he needed from the riot in his brain.

It wasn't quite that easy.

Nothing in her pretty face, kind words, or subtle come-ons helped assuage his guilt or worry. She knew that Tony was hurt but seemingly had no idea of the particulars. He ate as quickly as he could without seeming like he was rushing and nearly the moment he finished chewing the last bite he apologized for having to leave, mentioned he would probably see her the following day and excused himself to head back up to the infirmary.

Pepper Potts was in the waiting area, pacing in front of the double doors the doctor had come through earlier, talking to someone on her phone. She was a vision of efficiency and grace on any given day, and today was no different. Her long golden ponytail swayed and bobbed as she walked, and when she turned to retrace her steps she caught sight of Steve just inside the room. He wasn't prepared for a confrontation with her just yet, but it was unavoidable and he didn't believe in shying away from things, he believed in meeting them head on. It was one of the traits Dr. Erskine had chosen him for in the first place.

"Okay, as soon as radio silence can be broken please let him know and have him call me," She said quietly, and then her phone was gone. He had no idea where it went, her purse was on a chair six feet away, and the slender suit she wore didn't look like it allowed an inch of spare material to hide even something as slim as her cell phone. The look on her face made it crystal clear he would have to ponder her fashion secrets some other time.

"You're not exactly the model of self restraint I expected." Her tone was steely and her eyes were a blue blaze. "I can tell by looking at you just how sorry you are, but that doesn't mean I can forgive you, at least not right now."

"Ms. Potts," He began lamely then trailed off, because what on earth could he say?

"Save it, Captain." She straightened her spine, standing even taller.

He knew she was a force to be reckoned with, often the only person who could bend Tony's will, make him leave the self imposed exile of his workshop or attend meetings he was want to skip "for the sake of science", as he phrased it. Steve also knew the history between the two; that they had gone from coworkers to friends to lovers and back to friends, sharing a bond now that anyone would envy. Tony had explained once that Pepper was like a best friend and sister combined, but only the very best of each, "and, you know, no actual blood relation, which is good because no incest or anything weird like that," he had joked.

They protected each other, knew one another inside and out and loved each other deeply. Their intimate relationship had ended mutually, both of them realizing it wasn't meant to be and ending it before either one could feel bitter or resentful, resulting in an even stronger friendship being forged because of it. This brought him back to the very defensive woman glaring at him now.

"I don't want to hear your reasons or your apologies. I've been brought up to speed on today's events by people I trust a hell of a lot more than you right now. Though the person I would most like to talk about this with is currently unable because he's in surgery." Finally she looked away, releasing his gaze, and turned towards the row of chairs against the wall.

When she turned to face him again, she was pinching the bridge of her nose. "He's incredibly brave, Captain, but equally as fragile. You have no idea of the damage you've done, do you?"

"Well, the doctor sa—" the forceful step she took in his direction interrupted him before she'd uttered a word.

"I said save it. That was a rhetorical question, and not what I was referring to anyhow." She shook her head as she moved towards the chairs again, this time actually sitting in one. "The whole wounded animal look you have going on tells me you didn't intend to hurt him, but I can't sit this vigil with you. Please leave Captain. I assure you someone will contact you when he's out of surgery."

He couldn't tell her what she wanted to hear, so at the very least he could do as she asked. Without a word he turned and left the room.

He hadn't felt this alone since the first few days out of the ice.

The internal debate over whether or not to return to the tower had taken almost thirty minutes. He argued, to himself, that he wasn't up to seeing Clint right now. He wasn't running away, he knew he deserved anything his teammate could throw at him, and he would stand there and take it. But there would come a day when the archer might regret something said in the heat of the moment. Steve had first hand experience with that guilt. The things he had said to Tony on the helicarrier that day had bothered him for a long time afterwards. He couldn't place the blame on Loki's spear alone. He had been disappointed with the younger Stark from the very beginning, and the only thing he had done wrong was to be nothing like his father. That disappointment had faded as he got to know Tony, but he would never be able to take back the terrible things he had said. For Clint's own sake Steve thought it was better to wait for him to calm down so the marksman never had to live with that kind of regret hanging over him.

On the other hand, the hour Natasha had allotted was up and Clint most likely wasn't in the tower anymore. Steve really wanted to work out, release some of his pent up anger and tension. He could do that here at headquarters, but he had the feeling at least 10-15 bags would go down during his workout and he always felt guilty about that kind of expense. The bag Tony had made for him was incredible, still nearly pristine even after months of abuse. He wanted to be alone too; something that was not a guarantee in the tower gym, but much less so here, and that pretty much solved his problem. He would go home and punch that bag until he couldn't anymore, till his legs could barely support him and his arms wanted nothing more than to hang limply at his sides, until he was too tired to think about the mess he'd made of things recently, and how badly he had hurt his friend.

Two hours after he started his assault on the heavy bag, and more than four since he'd left Natasha at HQ, the cold British voice sounded in the room around him.

"Miss Potts has just notified me that Sir is out of surgery. She has asked that I inform you of his condition."

Steve moved his hands to the sides of the bag and leaned his forehead against it as he took a few steadying breaths in preparation for what he was about to hear. He had the distinct impression that JARVIS would be judging him based on his reaction.

"Surgery was done to repair a fracture of the mandible at the ramus. There were complications that lengthened Sir's time in the operating room, but those have been resolved. A titanium compression plate was chosen as the best fixed option. Resin arch bars were placed and joined for maxillo-mandibular fixation. Sir will not be able to open his mouth for a period of no less than three weeks."

Steve wasn't completely unfamiliar with treatment for a broken jaw, despite JARVIS seemingly trying to make him feel obtuse. He'd never had one, amazingly enough with all of his back alley fights, but had seen his fair share of soldiers who did. Usually it was the lesser of their other injuries, but it meant wiring the jaw closed. He couldn't imagine Tony not really speaking for weeks, the idea was unfathomable. Tony talked all the time, constantly, even when he had nothing to say, or no one to say it to, even more concerning were the complications JARVIS referred to. He was so absorbed with what had possibly gone wrong with Tony that he almost missed JARVIS continuing.

"Sir also sustained fractures to both the lateral and inferior orbital rims. It is uncertain whether or not eyesight in his left eye has been affected, though blindness occurring from this type of injury is uncommon. Also present is a smaller fracture of the zygoma. Again, titanium plates have been used, along with bone grafts and soft tissue resuspension to repair the damage. The wounds have been sutured and dressed; healing time is approximately three to four weeks."

Okay, round two went to JARVIS, that one he would have to look up.

Steve waited a moment to see if there was more. After a respectable ten seconds he figured that was all the AI had to say. "Thank you JARVIS, that was very…clinical." And he couldn't stop himself from asking, "Are there any signs of brain damage?" Because Tony was a super hero, and he was Hollywood handsome, but having either of those things impaired was nothing compared to a loss in his more than considerable brain power.

"Sir is not yet conscious; therefore it is impossible to be certain." JARVIS' tone was leading, but he didn't elaborate. Steve figured he'd quit while he was ahead, at least he was being spoken to without the venom.

He hadn't quite worked out all his tension with the bag, but now he was ready to stop for the night. Tony was out of surgery, but who knew if he was out of the woods, so to speak. He would go upstairs, wash away the sweat, and call Natasha to see if she had any more, yet less clinical information. Actually, he pulled out his phone and tapped her contact icon, he didn't want to wait. For a moment he was slightly concerned about losing the connection in the elevator, but then he remembered Tony telling him one day when it rang on the elevator at HQ, and Steve had jolted in surprise, "seriously, Cap, I designed that phone, be realistic, it'll work just about anywhere, depending on who you're talking to, because they might be using someone else's shitty tech…" he laughed at the memory of Tony's hands gesturing angrily at the thought of anything less than Stark Industries technology.

"Someone's in a better mood," he heard Natasha say through the phone. He must have still been laughing at the absurd memory when she answered.

So, according to Natasha, he had broken Tony's jaw, the bones around the eye and his cheekbone. Of course she didn't phrase it like that, but it was the truth. She added that the skin and muscle in those areas was torn by the crumpled helmet and the expectation was that no severe nerve damage was done. She also didn't say that the part of the helmet that supported the faceplate had saved Tony's life, but he'd punched many things since the serum and he knew that was a fact. Tony hadn't woken up yet, so everything else was pretty much an educated guess.

"There's no significant cranial swelling. The doctors are optimistic that he has a mild to moderated concussion at worst." She paused when she heard him let out the breath he'd been holding. "Director Fury wants to see us all in the morning. And Steve, there's a present for you in your room, read it, but we'll need to talk about it tomorrow. There are things left out, but I wanted to go over those in person." Steve figured she must be aware of his confrontation with Miss Potts since Natasha didn't ask him if he was coming by medical. If that was the case it would be rude for him to bring it up, and he couldn't do anything about it anyways.

"Thank you Natasha. JARVIS mentioned there were complications; do you know anything about that?" JARVIS had also said whatever the issues was had been resolved, but Steve still felt he wanted—needed to know what other damage he might have done.

"There was a loose piece of metal in Stark's mouth that lodged into the soft palate. The immediate concern was vascular injury, but fortunately that wasn't the case." As good as that news appeared to be, Natasha seemed hesitant to continue, though after a small intake of breath, she did. "It seems this wasn't his first broken jaw and there was some hardware left over from the previous time."

It took Steve a little longer than it should have to put what she said together with the tentative way she said it, and he was horrified when he figured it out at last.

"He had one of those plates JARVIS mentioned, from before, and I knocked it loose when I—when I hit him?" The last few words came out as a whisper as he flashed back to the fear he had seen in Clint's eyes when he said Tony wasn't breathing normally…that he might need CPR. He leaned back against the elevator wall for support, admitting to himself that it was possible to feel even guiltier than he had a minute ago.

"Steve…" He knew she wanted to say something to make him feel better, but he also knew he didn't deserve it. He didn't want her wasting that energy on him, distracting herself to help him when Tony was the one who needed their thoughts and prayers right now.

"Thank you again, Natasha. Have a nice evening and I'll see you in the morning." He said a bit too brusquely, but he wanted to be alone with his thoughts and the file she had hopefully been referring to. He disconnected the phone call with only the smallest twinge of regret for his tone; he knew she would understand, she knew him better than anyone in this century, well, besides Tony.

When the elevator doors opened he went straight to his room, spotting the file Natasha had left on his desk. This required attention, so not while he was sweaty and hungry. He decided he would shower, for the third time today, make a sandwich and read the file in the kitchen while he was eating.

The shower was very quick because it was cold. He'd rapidly scrubbed away the sweat and blood, wondering at his first unwanted cold shower since waking up in this century. In fact, always having water, and warm at that, when he wanted it was really nice. He was no stranger to cold showers in his past life, both before the serum and in the army, but in this time it never happened unless it was intentional. And it had been intentional on more than one occasion in the earlier stages of becoming close to Tony. He briefly thought something was wrong with the plumbing in the tower before he realized it was most likely JARVIS' doing, a small reminder of the computer's dislike for him at the moment.

Still shivering a little, he dressed and headed to the kitchen to make a sandwich before grabbing the file and sitting down at the table to read.

Afghanistan was not new information to him. He'd known of Tony's capture and that he'd made the first Iron Man suit as well as his arc reactor while in captivity. But he'd never given much thought to what the rest of those three months had been like until he was reading about probable forms of torture and surgery with little to no anesthetic. The thought of it made him sick. He wondered vaguely if this is when Tony had broken his jaw the first time.

Steve almost spit out a bite of his sandwich when he read about Obadiah Stane's betrayal, his role in facilitating Tony's kidnapping and his further attempts to murder Tony by stealing the reactor from his chest. He'd only just finished reading about how Stane was his business partner, as well as Howard's close friend and Tony's mentor. No wonder it had taken Tony months to stop flinching whenever Steve got too close to the device, even in an intimate setting. Tony's trust issues were starting to make a lot more sense.

Breadcrumbs as well as bits of cheese and turkey did sputter from his mouth when he read about the palladium poisoning. Tony had thought he was dying, actually he was dying, and that explained more than a few of the irresponsible choices he'd made. A lot of the crazy and reckless things he did during that time were out there for anyone to read about, but the explanation wasn't. The world never knew that Tony was dying, that he thought every day could be his last, and he never made excuses for himself. Then he'd solved the problem by creating a new element; the man was completely brilliant and utterly amazing. In addition, he'd been through all of that and still came out fighting, choosing to put himself out there as a target. Tony bragged about so many things, but never these life changing events and the depth of creativity and astonishing genius they wrought.

He couldn't shake the feelings of deep guilt. He would give anything to trade places with Tony, bear the pain he was surely going through, or would be when he woke up. He knew better than that though, he had committed a sin and this guilt, this suffering and this helplessness was surely penance for that.

Sleep did not come easy for Steve that night, and when it did finally take him, his dreams were of caves and portals and a man so much larger than Tony holding him down as he stole the blue light, leaving in his wake a dark, gaping hole and a lifeless Tony. He woke with a shout, legs strangled by the sheets, fingernail shaped crescents gouged into his palms, breath stilted, and covered in a sheen of sweat, there was no way he'd be falling back asleep now.

Thirty minutes later found him peering through the small window in the door of the medical bay waiting area. Bruce was asleep in a chair, slouched down, head resting on the wall behind him. Natasha was in the chair to his immediate right, curled towards him, legs drawn up with her head resting on the scientists shoulder. Their friendship had come a long way since those first days on the helicarrier, like his and Tony's had, and for the first time he wondered if there was something more between the spy and the doctor. Then again, Clint and Natasha seemed more a pair, there was definitely a history between the two, but it was hard to say what their personal relationship was now. Maybe they were like him and Tony, the best of friends who sometimes enjoyed a more physical relationship. The thought made him blush, as much for thinking about those kinds of things going on among his friends as the dizzying thoughts of the things he and Tony did together.

God, the things the notorious playboy had taught him were fantastic. And though everything else Tony did was high-speed and often frantic, following an intellect and personality that would not be slowed, he had taken his time with Steve. More than that actually, now that he thought about it. Tony had never initiated anything other than kisses, and only after Steve had kissed him four or five times before that. It was always Steve asking for more, begging for it, and Tony had still made him wait forever. From the very first kiss through the last time they'd had sex, Tony had let Steve call the shots. That's not to say that the more experienced man wasn't a good teacher, he was probably the best, but only once he was absolutely sure that Steve was ready to take the next step. And it was obvious that Tony wanted more as well, the proof of his desire was always hard and heavy between them, but he pulled himself back time and time again, so unlike the philanderer he was reputed to be.

He thought back to the dozens of times he'd been caught up in the moment with his ingenious friend, letting his hands map and wander the smaller man's lithe form, only to be pulled away when they strayed any lower than the waist, and then the first time Tony hadn't stopped him.

_They were so close they were sharing the same humid air as well as body heat and his breath was coming in short, panting gasps. The hand he had curled around Tony's neck began to roam of it's own accord, over the lovely jut of his collarbone, through the scars that bordered the arc reactor, and lower still over the trail of dark hair down a hard, flat abdomen. His eyes were on Tony's mouth, lips a deep red and enlarged from long, unhurried kisses, shiny with the evidence of their intensity. He didn't want to look up and see the hesitation he knew would be conveyed in those dark eyes, he wanted more, wanted to touch someone other than himself in this feverish state, wanted to give pleasure to the incredible man before him. When he did at last look up, seeking permission, begging to be allowed, what he saw sent a surge of heat lancing through him. The genius' eyes were glittering and unfocused but looking right at him, surely mirroring the want in his own intense gaze. Steve's desire doubled in that moment, and he brazenly slid his hand over Tony's arousal, drawing an unbelievably sinful moan from the other man that prompted the inexperienced soldier to curl his fingers around the firm length and stroke upwards. He moved his other hand up to where the first had been, around the nape of Tony's neck, woven in the dark curls, and brought the man to his lips. Steve kissed him long and deep as he hooked his thumb into the waistband of the inventor's sweatpants and began to lower them in an effort to touch fully and finally feel his bare flesh. He held firm around the neck, not wanting to be told no yet again, that things had gone far enough, because right now, there was no such thing. Tony could break the hold if he really wanted, but Steve was doing nothing to encourage that._

_Tony felt incredible in his hand, so hard, but smooth and very warm, and when he stroked upwards again he was met with a small gush of wet heat. It was his turn to moan, a horse, broken sound he would be embarrassed about making any other time. This time, however, the sound caused Tony to shudder and pull his lips away. Steve was afraid it was over, that he would be asked to stop but instead Tony touched their foreheads together and whispered, in an equally broken voice "Steve…"_

_He was half crazy with lust, and with the knowledge that Tony was not stopping him, that he was being permitted to prolong this intensely erotic moment. He continued stroking, his heart pounding and his own hardness begging to be touched. Both of Tony's hands were on his hips, thumbs pressing small circles, and Steve couldn't stop himself, "Tony… please…touch me." He would surely be mortified about that later, but it was impossible right now when it meant Tony was looking at him intently, eyes now focused and asking silently if Steve was sure. And, yes, good God Almighty he was._

_Tony moved both hands, one going to the button and zipper of Steve's pants while the other grasped his erection. Steve gasped loudly then began raggedly gulping for air as Tony pulled him free of his pants and boxers. It was so unlike touching himself, Tony's fingers were unerringly clever and practiced, roughened with scars and calluses and the combination was beyond wonderful. He had no control over how Tony was touching him, and he had wrongfully assumed every touch to that part of his body would feel pretty much the same, but the inventors hands were smaller, quicker and tighter and the effect was bringing him to the edge so much faster than he'd ever gotten when doing this alone. Almost as if Tony sensed this, he stroked to the tip, ran his finger over the damp slit and stopped. Steve continued, with an even firmer grasp, up and down Tony's length in encouragement for the other to imitate, but aside from the thumb running back and forth over the tip there was no more movement._

"_Don't…please don't stop." His voice was unrecognizable, low and rough and full of a need he hadn't thought possible. The slow torture of the thumb continued, but so did Tony's other hand, pushing Steve's clothes further down his thighs. And thank you God, because for a heart stopping instant he'd thought the playboy was going to pull them the other way to cover Steve back up._

"_I won't stop, baby, not unless you ask," Tony's voice was low as well, husky with arousal as he slid both hands around to cup Steve's rear, squeezing while at the same time standing on his toes and pulling Steve even closer. The result was that the hand encompassing Tony's erection was now pressed between them. Steve didn't understand how that could possibly be better with his movements so restricted, and he pulled his hand up and away in confusion, and ohhh… oh my God, they were left with their erections touching and Tony grinding slowly against him. It was, without any doubt, the most amazing thing he'd ever felt. The embers that had been smoldering in his stomach and lower spine seemed to erupt, searing through him and he reached around the billionaire, pulling him impossibly closer and holding him there while moving his hips helplessly as he let the sensation swallow him whole._

_He knew his climax was mere moments away, and nothing he could do would stave it off now. Embracing that knowledge, he moved his lips to the juncture of Tony's neck and shoulder, so close with the other man on his toes, and bit softly into the flesh. He was rewarded with a __deep appreciative groan, and that did it, his hips stuttered wildly before his body went rigid, his release spurting between them, warm and viscous and making the feeling even better. Tony's ragged breathing indicated he was right behind and he moaned Steve's name loudly as he coated them both in more of the hot sticky fluid._

A soft tapping sound pulled him from his reverie. He sucked in a breath, overly warm from the memory, and noticed Natasha rapping her knuckle on the glass. His forehead was resting on the cool metal of the door, and he backed away so that she could open it.

"Hey, you're here early." She said as an ice breaker. Natasha was very observant, had to be in her line of work, so he knew she was aware of how little he had slept, and that he was anxious about seeing Tony, and Clint too. "Pepper and Clint are in with him now. He hasn't woken up yet." She added, knowing those were the two questions running through his mind at the moment.

He had no right to ask, but he wanted to see Tony, and the only way that could be even more impossible was if Col. Rhodes was here as well. He was glad that Tony had these people to protect him, to look out for him, but he never expected to be viewed as the one Tony needed protection from. Trying to go into Tony's room now would be about as dangerous as Odysseus facing Scylla and Charybdis. Natasha being one of the most perceptive people he'd ever met seemed able to follow the train of his unspoken thoughts.

"Pepper has to leave in a few minutes, and I can distract Clint when that happens, but I can't guarantee you more than fifteen minutes," she smirked knowingly, then added, "and you're on your own with Banner if he wakes up. But don't forget that we need to talk after the meeting," she whispered over her shoulder as she headed for the door.

"Thank you, Natasha," is all he could say, overcome with gratitude that this formidable woman was not only on his side, but his friend as well. He knew that she could read the depth of emotion and the things he didn't say. True to her word, she headed through the doors on the other side of the waiting area, down the long hallway and entered the third room on the left. He ducked out of sight, feeling very much like the villain he was in this situation, and waited for the three to emerge before heading into the room.

It wasn't as bright as he expected, the overhead lights were off and the day outside was overcast, thus not providing very much illumination through the small window. Tony was propped up in the bed, but asleep, exactly as he was expecting. The entire left side of his face was covered with bandages and white medical tape, he'd thought he was prepared for it, but the reality was so much worse. He'd been around injured men more often than he cared to remember, but he had personally caused these injuries, and looking at the damage he had done incited a lump to form in his throat and the burning sting of tears behind his eyelids. He stood for endless minutes trying to get hold of himself before turning back to the bed.

Tony's hair was cut very short, almost shorn, and his trademark goatee was gone. He would probably be as upset about the loss as he was about the much more serious consequences of Steve's failure to control himself. The difference was startling, he looked younger and the wary look usually gracing the engineer's face had morphed into something very peaceful. He couldn't imagine seeing that face so serene while its owner was awake; Tony was always so expressive, so many things running through him at once.

Without the facial hair, Tony's lips were more prominent, appearing fuller and darker and, at the moment, very chapped. Steve had the wild urge to kiss those lips, briefly and chastely, just to feel them again, for what would probably be the last time. The thought saddened him more than he expected. And, because this was one more example of how he couldn't hold back where Tony was concerned, he did bend slightly and press his lips to Tony's. It could hardly even be called a kiss for how light and fleeting it was, and it amazed him that the genius lips were still as warm as he remembered. He pressed his fingers into his eyelids before a tear could fall.

"I'm so sorry Tony," he said, his voice raspy but tender. "Please be okay…please Tony, just—just wake up and be okay." One hot tear slipped out, despite his best effort to stop it, and slid down his cheek. He wiped it away, pressed harder on his eyelids to contain the rest and stepped away from the bed. Once again he found himself not knowing what to say, lost in grief and guilt and wishing more than anything he could have that moment back when he had lost his temper. He swallowed the sticky lump in his throat, wiped the unshed tears from his eyelashes and quickly left the room. Natasha's promised fifteen minutes were nearly up and the sight of Tony so still was unnerving, compounding his guilt with every moment, tightening in his gut and throbbing in his chest. The feeling was somehow similar to the hollow ache that had resided in his chest for so long after he had woken from the ice. Tony had been the one to ease that feeling away the first time, and now he would have to learn to live with it again, for how long he had no idea.

Bruce was still asleep when he came back into the waiting area. He contemplated waking him up, they had a meeting with director Fury in thirty minutes. Steve took a moment to compose himself further, he suspected traces of his grief were still visible in his eyes, but he wasn't sure what he could do about that, and placed a hand lightly on the doctor's shoulder.

Bruce jolted upright, "Is he awake?" It was almost a whisper, but Steve heard it anyways.

"No, but it's almost time to meet Fury. I thought we could grab coffee on the way."

Dr. Banner shook himself fully awake and stood, stretching his back then his arms before heading to the door. "Sure, sounds good." Bruce looked away shyly and said in a quietly hesitant voice, "I actually had something I wanted to talk to you about anyways."

His insides squirmed slightly at the doctor's tone, there was no way this could be good.

"You know Tony better than the rest of us do." Bruce began, still not looking directly at him. Steve felt the heat on his face at the doctor's words, remembering that the whole team knew what had been going on between him and Tony after yesterday. "Did he ever mention when he broke his jaw the first time?"

"Uh, no, I don't remember it ever coming up. Why do you ask?" Admittedly, he was slightly curious about that as well, just because it seemed unlikely that anyone but a boxer would be unlucky enough to have to go through it more than once, but Tony did take more than a fair amount of unnecessary risks.

"Just wondering, the piece they found isn't really used anymore, hasn't been since the mid eighties."

"Are you saying that Tony was a child when it happened?" Steve asked incredulously. Even he, with all of the fights he'd been in as a frail youngster, hadn't been that unfortunate. Granted, Bucky had most likely saved him from that fate more times than he could count, but Tony hadn't been raised like that, he had been a rich, pampered child. Though, if the genius was even half as snarky and arrogant back then as he was now…

"Well, definitely pre MIT and he was fifteen when he started there." Bruce's answer interrupted his train of thought. "I checked, it isn't in his medical records though obviously surgery was done if there were plates used."

Before Steve could respond they reached their destination.

Clint never met his eyes, never even looked in his direction as he came into the briefing room. The archer took a seat next to the empty chair to Steve's right, sitting across from Natasha, and purposely not right next to Steve. He understood the other man's anger, accepted it and did not resent the man. He was actually glad that, so far at least, angry words had not been said.

"Okay people," Fury started, swishing into the room. "This is not about our slimy friends from yesterday, or about what happened after." He eyed Steve heavily before going on. "Stark was supposed to attend a benefit tomorrow night. Said affair is to directly benefit The Avengers Initiative, meaning you all." The statement was met with collective groans from Clint and Natasha, Steve still wasn't really sure where this was going.

"That means," he glared at everyone around the table in turn, daring any of them to disagree, "you are going in his place, to spread good will or whatever happy horse shit mollifies these rich assholes and gets their support, financial and otherwise, that we need after the damages done to the city whenever you're called out. This is not up for dispute." He eyed them all again, a deadly expression on his face. "And get dates. We need a distraction from the fact Stark won't be there. I'm sure that won't be a problem." He was focusing his intent stare directly at Steve again. "If you can't find a date, even though you're superheroes, one will be found for you." It was sarcastic, but no less serious for that. "End of discussion, no questions. Barton, you're excused from going." His weighted stare was on Natasha now as he said this, not Clint, daring her to object.

Steve knew Fury didn't want Clint up close and personal with the masses. It had been months and Clint had fought on their side, in front of the entire world, but people were fickle and Clint had fought alongside Loki at the start of it all. It didn't seem to matter that every member of the team trusted Hawkeye with their lives; even some agents at S.H.I.E.L.D. still questioned his loyalty. No one ever had the nerve to say that to any of their faces, but Steve's enhanced hearing could really be an imposition sometimes, and he had heard the whispers in the halls.

"Oh, I almost forgot," Fury turned back to the room at large, "Thor will be there with Dr. Foster, and hopefully she'll be able to stifle his…enthusiasm a little bit. Agent Hill has all the details, and if you don't have anything black tie appropriate then see her about that too. Happy prom night kiddos." With that he left the room and Agent Hill entered.

"Agent Romanoff," Hill said, striding to the head of the table. "We think it best if you accompany Dr. Banner." There was no need for her to elaborate, they all knew why. She turned to Bruce, "If you should feel the need to leave, go someplace more…stress free she can stay and the loss won't be felt as greatly." She was sympathetic to the panicked look on Bruce's face, and added, "We don't expect you to stay the whole time."

It really shouldn't have come as such a shock. Steve remembered Tony asking him if he had plans for tomorrow night a few days ago, and it was very like the brilliant man to just leave it at that after Steve had said he was free. He never imagined a date though, if that's what this could be called. His only choice now was Claire. If she had other plans he wasn't sure what he would do, he'd never successfully asked anyone on a date before. He stood and pulled out his phone, wanting to ask her as soon as possible, the thought of having to go to Fury if she was busy was just too much.

"Steve…" Natasha called just as he tapped send to call Claire.

"Sorry Natasha, I really have to make this call." He felt bad, she had told him they needed to talk, but at the moment this took precedence. The memory of Fury's weighted, single-eyed glare was fresh in his mind. "Can I catch up to you later?" He asked hopefully.

She raised an eyebrow as she nodded at the phone to his ear, "sure, Steve…good luck." He watched her head off down the hall wondering what she wanted to talk to him about. It had to be something important, that was the third time she'd mentioned it to him since last night.

The thought was cut off by the voice on the other end of his phone. He closed his eyes and said a silent prayer that she would say yes and he wouldn't find himself in Fury's office anytime soon.

Thankfully that wouldn't be necessary, Claire was free and he made arrangements to pick her up after asking for her address. This was something Steve should be thrilled about, his first real date; one Bucky hadn't set up for him. He had actually asked and been told yes. The idea of it was less joyful than he imagined though. He wasn't sure how he felt about accompanying Tony to something like this, but there was a light fluttery feeling in his chest that hadn't been there since yesterday, before everything happened. He suspected it was nerves.

He followed the others back down to the hospital wing where Pepper Potts was conversing with a doctor. She turned as they all came in; glared daggers briefly at Steve, motioned for Clint to follow her, and headed to Tony's room. Steve had no idea how to make this right, but until they knew Tony was out of danger he suspected Pepper and Clint would harbor their anger, silent or otherwise.

The doctor told them that only two visitors at a time were allowed in Tony's room until he was awake, so Steve, Natasha and Bruce spent a little more than an hour talking about the upcoming benefit. How unfair it was to Clint, though Natasha and Bruce considered him the lucky one for being able to skip it. Natasha was talking about looking at blueprints of the building they would all be heading to tomorrow night when Pepper came back into the waiting area.

"He woke up a little while ago. He's disoriented and in pain, but otherwise seems okay." She said this matter of factly, as if it were a public service announcement, then turned to Steve before continuing, "I think it's best if you stay out here at the moment, Captain Rogers."

He didn't know if the idea was hers or Tony's, but he knew he should respect it. He was so relieved that Tony had woken up and that he was okay and that would have to be enough for now. He would see Tony soon, and he would apologize and they would set things right, maybe not today or tomorrow, but Steve promised himself he would make things right between them again.

**A/N: **I know it's was long an angsty, and you probably want to just shake some sense into Steve, but the next chapter is Tony! Thanks for reading.


	3. Chapter 3

Christ he was sore.

Everything hurt and he hadn't even moved yet, hadn't so much as attempted to blink. Unfortunately, this situation was way too familiar. Numerous kidnappings where he was robbed of both his consciousness and his dignity, some questionable and possibly slightly unsafe engineering benders resulting in minor—or slightly more than minor explosions, and an awe inspiring and frankly ridiculous number of hangovers, probably Guinness Book worthy, had taught him not to move too suddenly when he woke up feeling this bad.

_Focus, genius… deep breaths, assess the damage and the situation, listen before opening your eyes, and for god's sake don't say anything in case you're not alone, _he told himself over and over in an effort to both slow his heartbeat and regulate his breathing.

There was no doubt he was in a hospital, judging by the antiseptic tang in the air and the incessant beeping of a nearby machine that clearly said 'I am monitoring your vital signs'. He wasn't going to mention the quality of the bed linens or clothing he was wearing, and what sucked even worse was that he wasn't on the good stuff according the amount of pain he was in and his racing, always overactive while sober brain. Speaking of things that sucked, let's add the fact that his throat hadn't been this dry since his stroll through the scenic outskirts of a cave in Afghanistan.

Okay, hurt but alive, with minimal drugs and something sticky and uncomfortable on his face. _Shit... not my face_ he thought, almost groaning before he caught himself. Then he remembered—the S.H.E.I.L.D slut kissing Steve, or that Steve had been kissing (semantics, whatever), the battle and their fight after it. He couldn't help but notice a pressing weight on his chest, a heaviness he almost hoped was the reactor, but when was he ever that lucky? The memory of their last moments together, the unrestrained super punch and reason he was here, combined with the throb in his chest caused him to gasp...audibly.

"Tony!" The outcry was accompanied by scraping chair legs on the floor and hurried footsteps towards his bed.

_Fuck!_

Why couldn't this particular head injury be accompanied by short term amnesia? Oh right, yeah, because again, he wasn't that lucky.

He could tell at least one person in the room was Pepper; if her voice hadn't given her away, her perfume and the unmistakable clack of Jimmy Choos' certainly would have. Her cool, slender fingers touched his hand as he heard someone else's shuffled approach behind her.

_Barton…please be Barton and not Steve._ The power of positive thinking had never seemed to work out for him before, but, hell, it was worth a try…he really, really wasn't ready to see Steve right now. If he was here though, how would he look, well besides gorgeous, obviously? Would he have those sad, pathetic eyes and that sheepish, pouty expression Tony was willing to do anything to change? Or would he still be angry, beautiful blue eyes frigid like chips of the Atlantic ice that had encased him for so long? Would Steve look as he had that day on the helicarrier, smug and righteous, leveling him with that focused, scornful glare? Any of those looks, however, would be preferable to the expression gracing his handsome face as he had pulled back from kissing that whore earlier and then looked at Tony so dismissively…

_Jesus. Okay, enough already— man up, see for yourself, you're Tony Stark for Christ's sake, open your eyes… or eye, as apparently one was either taped or swollen closed. _

"Oh Tony, thank God you're okay." He heard Pepper's relief laden tone before he saw her small, watery smile, which might actually be more his bleary vision than the quality of her smile, she was almost as used to this as he was, after all.

He blinked several times, which pulled uncomfortably at the dressing on his closed eye, trying to clear some of the grit and film that covered his good eye like a crack-house window. Oh god, he was like Fury now…this had better not be permanent. He had subscribed to some highly reckless fashion choices in the past, and could make almost anything look good, but an eye patch might just be pushing it.

Groaning at the thought, since he could no longer pretend to still be sleeping, he turned but only slightly, because _ouch_. And that was Barton standing next to Pepper; he would have to give this power of positive thoughts thing a bit more credit. As soon as the thought was formed, though, he wished Steve was there too. He wanted to feel like his…boyfriend?… whatever they were, or used to be—had they broken up?—cared enough to check on him. He supposed kissing someone else then punching your… _whatever_ in the face, hard, would constitute breaking up. Yeah, they didn't call him a genius for nothing.

"Don't try to talk Stark," Barton said hoarsely, as if he had gone a while without speaking. He cleared his throat, twice, and continued, "Broken jaw, and other things…" he waved vaguely at his own face. "Bruce can explain it better, but they would only let two of us stay with you until you woke up, we're first shift."

That explained the shit ton of pain he was in and the desert that was his mouth. This, unsurprisingly, was not his first broken jaw. He knew very well it meant weeks without really speaking and, almost as disturbing, meals fresh from the blender (Dummy will be so excited). He wished he could say the previous time had been a result of super-heroing, but it was a lot like this time, only he had been much younger and didn't have a suit of armor, not that it'd helped, clearly. On the bright side though, single malt scotch through a straw; oh, and also, he wouldn't have to worry about saying anything stupid and embarrassing to Steve, like unashamedly begging him to change his mind. The ache in his chest hurt almost as much as his face did.

He needed to focus and stop thinking about Steve.

"You've been out for a day, Tony." Clint said, pouring a small cup of water from a tacky plastic decanter. He moved towards the bed, cup in hand but Pepper gracefully took it from him, setting it down on the bedside table before pulling a bottle of Evian from her purse. He hoped his thank you expression was as effective with half his face taped up and only one eye. He did not like to be handed things, and who the hell imagined he would drink tap water from a hospital?

"Right…spoiled billionaire," Clint chuckled. "Sorry, I wasn't thinking."

He tried to answer with a smile, and holy fuck that hurt.

"Tony, here," Pepper said, inserting a straw (yeah, get used to it) into the bottle of water and bringing it to his lips. The water was only slightly cooler than room temperature, meaning either it had been in her purse for a while as she waited for him to wake up, or that she had intentionally bought a non refrigerated one realizing how much of a shock cold water would be when it met the tumbleweeds in his throat. He decided to go with the latter, because in her own way, Pepper was just as brilliant as he was. Okay, focusing back on the water. It was possibly the best thing he had ever tasted, aside from the one Rhodey had given him that glorious day in the desert, and not counting that time Steve had been eating coffee flavored ice cream and had kissed him senseless with a spoonful of it still in his mouth, melting all over the place between them. And in case anyone was wondering, coffee and super soldier was, with scientific certainty (trust him, he'd done the research), the best flavor ever…at least non-sexually, and he wasn't even going to go there, because a boner right now would just be all kinds of awkward.

"Dude, seriously, I can literally hear you thinking. Relax, he's not here."

Wow, had he said any of that out loud? Sometimes that happened and there was not one time when it had been pleasant, but that couldn't be the case here; that was impossible right now because his fucking jaw was wired shut. Therefore, Barton was being ironic and his thoughts must be showing on his face; half his face, whatever, and for some reason Clint read that as Tony didn't want to see Steve.

And, really, that was the million dollar question—did he want to see Steve?

"Tony, he's right. Relax, everything's okay. I'm going to let them know you're awake and I'll get Bruce." Pepper ran her fingers through his hair, his much shorter hair, as she spoke, pushing it back from his forehead. She really was a mother hen sometimes, but he liked his balls hanging right where they were too much to ever call her anything like that to her face. That was as big an insult to her as it was to him. Why hadn't their relationship worked out again?

Oh God, now he was reminiscing about Pepper as well as Steve. He should just think of something simple, something that made sense to him, would help his scattered brain calibrate, like energy conversion in quantum-scale electromechanical systems, or the Boltzmann transport equation.

Even that didn't help to focus or calm his mind. By "everything's okay," she had meant physically. Yeah, a broken face sucked, and they may have shaved his goatee and most likely half his head and he would trudge through a few mostly silent weeks (somewhere angels were rejoicing) but he would recover eventually, probably with the aid of a very expensive plastic surgeon. His broken heart though, how would he recover from that?

Or from this sudden transformation into a teenaged girl?

Now would be a really good time for some of that aforementioned single malt scotch through a straw, or at least a few powerful drops of _something_ through the goddamned tube in his arm.

As soon as Pepper left the room Barton came right up next to him, possibly a little too close, but his peripheral vision was slightly skewed due to the whole tape over the eye thing. He resisted the familiar urge to flinch from the proximity. He wouldn't let what Steve had done cause him to regress and show that kind of weakness again in front of anyone. If he had learned to stand his ground with Howard, he could certainly do it now.

And holy shit, had he really just gone _there_? Wow, his brain was all over the place. Looks like a super soldier punch to the head was capable of shaking loose some deeply buried—okay, repressed—memories. Or, it was maybe possible he had a concussion, again.

"Listen, I know you're not okay. I know in that fucked up mess of a mind you're thinking you're fine, I can actually see you thinking it, but I was there and I saw it all. Nobody would be fine after that Tony, but it _is_ going to be okay." In an uncharacteristic show of affection, manly, straight guy affection, Clint took his hand and squeezed it. "I've got you. I'm here for you, here for whatever you need." And because this was Barton, he couldn't stay serious for too long.

"If you want me to hang the periodic table of the elements or some equally nerdy science shit for you to stare at, I can do that." The comfortable pressure on his hand subsided and Clint moved back a fraction. "If you want cheeseburger and spicy fry smoothies, as disgusting as that is, I can do that too." Clint grinned, but Tony didn't smile back, he'd learned his lesson from the last time he'd tried to return that gesture, so he nodded slightly instead. It hurt, but welcome to his life for the next few weeks. "But if you want me to sing sappy teenage angst Taylor Swift songs to you, you're one hundred percent shit out of luck."

And that right there was the reason why he had always like Barton best.

"Don't pretend you didn't like the math reference at the end there, only for you buddy."

On second thought, he might have to reconsider his thought from a moment ago because that was about the lamest math related reference ever, although, Barton was from _Iowa, _and if that wasn't pathetic enough, he had run away to join a fucking carnival…just, wow…could it get any more tragic than that? Okay, Clint was allowed to make lame math references, at least for now.

At the sound of footsteps just outside the door, Clint moved back another few steps. Pepper came in the room, accompanied by Bruce and Natasha. As the two women approached the bed, Bruce chose to check out the monitor in the corner, always the scientist, gathering data first, which is why Banner was his second favorite.

"Glad you're finally up Stark." It was practically a declaration of love coming from Natasha. Thank god he couldn't speak at the moment because he could think of at least ten great comebacks for that, but as previously stated, or thought, whatever okay, he liked his balls hanging precisely where they were. She stepped towards Clint, and together the two retreated to the chairs on the other side of the room. There was always something extra, something more in the glances the spies shared, something unspoken, but meaningful. Not for the first time he wondered why they weren't together. Call him an asshole, everyone did eventually, but it was refreshing to think about someone else's fucked up relationship for a change.

Before Bruce could come over to him, Pepper leaned in (don't flinch) and whispered, "I know you're wondering, and yes, he wanted to come in too, but I told him no, that I had to check with you first." Tony knew exactly who she was referring to. Not that he needed another million dollars, but the answer to that question was yes, he did want to see Steve.

Even with his fucked up sense of self preservation he knew how bad of an idea that was.

Nobody else would have told Steve no successfully, because Steve was the most stubborn person he'd ever met, no exaggeration, absolutely none whatsoever, his stubborn streak was just as enhanced and perfected as everything else by Erskine's formula. But he wasn't Pepper's captain and she could be pretty damn persuasive when she tried. She would stand up to him, not unkindly because that just wasn't Pepper's way, and Steve would back down, and right now he was very grateful for that. He shook his head, or tried to, only getting half a turn in before the pain was too much. She understood though, like he said—thought earlier, brilliant in her own way.

"Okay then," she pressed a light kiss to his forehead before leaving the room, presumably to tell Steve he wasn't welcome in here right now. For the second time in as many minutes he was glad he couldn't speak, because if he could he would have called her back and said he'd changed his mind.

He'd been too distracted trying to steel himself against the desire to see Steve again to notice Bruce coming up to him. As a result he jolted badly, and quite painfully, at the sound of Banner's voice. "Your doctor will be by soon…sorry, didn't mean to startle you." Bruce said, as the stupid machine he was hooked up to started beeping more rapidly, indicating a spike in his heart rate.

He was tired of the pain in his head, tired of the ache in his chest, tired of thinking about Steve, and just plain tired in general. He needed sleep. Peaceful, drug induced while his body recovered sleep. He knew, thanks to some agonizing memories, that he could actually sort of mumble-talk with his jaw wired, but he also knew how awful it would feel, at least this soon. He waited until he had Bruce's full attention again, hoping he would notice the fatigue, and then eyed significantly (not as easy as one would think with only one eye) the tube in his arm, knowing how clever his fellow scientist was and that his meaning would be clear.

And Bruce did not disappoint.

"Okay, everything else can wait, you should rest now," he said, pushing that beautiful little button that was just out of Tony's reach. "We'll be here when you wake up again."

* * *

And they were, well, at least he thought Clint and Bruce were, but they were his two favorites anyways. It was mostly dark in the room and it took a minute for his eye to focus on the two asleep in the chairs, the indistinct forms were too large to be women, so not Pepper and Natasha, and too small to be Thor or Ste—Cap, maybe if he used the nickname it would ache less to think about him. There was dull light filtering through the blinds, so it was still daytime, just a dreary one it seemed. At least his powers of observation were still somewhat intact.

Okay, it was semi-dark and quiet, with the small exception of the soft snores coming from his visitors, but that was fine with Tony. He took a moment to re-assess; his face hurt less, though he hadn't tried to move it yet, he could lift both arms and wiggle all his toes, so no spinal damage, and his brain seemed less scattered than the last time he was awake, so probably only a mild concussion. The fact that half his face was mummified meant damage to more than just his jaw. He'd realized this before, broken face and all, but as for specifics; the orbit definitely, and the cheek most likely, based on the searing pain when he'd tried to smile at Clint. But it was true pain, not tingly and far from numbness, so the underlying nerves were probably okay. He was going to embrace his new found respect for the power of positive thinking where the eye damage was concerned, though maybe he could rock that patch as well as Kurt Russell had in Escape from New York, but Fury would still accuse him of being a copy cat which was just unacceptable.

His face would be a mass of bruises and scars for a while, not to mention the whole closed jaw thing. The last time his jaw had been wired closed even the dorky kid who wore the headgear had made fun of him, and he hadn't even been able to fight back. First, because insults and wit had always been his best offense as well as defense, and he hadn't been able to speak clearly, which is what had gotten him laughed at in the first place. And second, because even he wasn't enough of an asshole to hit a kid wearing a headgear.

So, roughly four weeks of healing. There was no way Fury or St—Cap would let him back in the armor like this, which was absurd but still a fact. Although, a month away from his current life might be a good thing, he wouldn't go as far as calling this a blessing in disguise or a gift horse, but, yeah, time away sounded like a good idea. Maybe somewhere warm with steel drums, girls in bikinis and foreign dudes in Speedos. Guys here usually wore those big board shorts, leaving everything to the imagination. Sure, he wore those too at the beach, and though some people might call him a shameless exhibitionist, certainly not enough to wear a Speedo on a public beach. Someplace like that had the added bonus of lots of rum and tequila, and through a straw no less, meaning he could drink himself into forgetting while drenched in sunshine watching beautiful bodies stroll along the sand. Of course, pain meds and tequila was probably a bad combination, and a hangover on top of the misery in his head now would be downright horrible. Oh, yeah, and there was the chance he would overindulge (yes, hard to believe, but no less true) and throwing up into a mouth he couldn't open was just…aghuuuk. No!

The repulsive thought had him shuddering for a full thirty seconds.

Getting back on a much more relevant and way less disgusting track, Malibu was out of the question too; anywhere he had to fly really, that would wreak havoc with the swelling in his face, maybe pull some sutures and cause more scarring, and probably hurt like hell. He did own some pretty remote cabins, well, not _cabins,_ he was a billionaire for god's sake, more like very lavish chalets, where he could go, in a car, and wallow in peace.

Who the hell was he kidding? Four weeks with only himself to talk to would land him in the loony bin for sure, but a month without _even _himself to really talk to would probably push him to mad scientist levels of insane, like Dr. Jekyll, ew, or, even better still, Dr. Frank N Furter, he could totally pull off lingerie and heels. Yes, they're fictional mad scientists, but there was no way he could equate himself with some of the real life mad scientists out there, like Josef Mengele [1], that sick fuck, or that absolute batshit crazy Ffirth[2] guy who drank the vomit of yellow fever patients to prove it wasn't contagious, and of course it's contagious! Ack…even Reed Richard's wouldn't go that far, speaking of a real life mad scientist…

Clearly his brain was still a bit scattered, because that was so off topic it was ridiculous, and he should probably add vomit to the list of things to stop thinking about.

This inability to focus might mean a not so mild concussion after all, or maybe adult onset ADD.

He needed a vacation from his goddamned brain.

_FOCUS!_

Right, so, somewhere he wouldn't be alone, maybe with JARVIS and his bots. Okay, definitely with JARVIS and his bots. Also, it wouldn't do to have too much down time on his hands with his brain liable to go into freefall so easily, so he would need work to do, well, more work than usual since there wouldn't be any distractions like his armor or his teammates or the SI board of directors or Steve.

He did own a small building just off the MIT campus. He used it to house his scholarship recipients, smart kids who would get admitted to MIT but whose parents couldn't afford to send them even with a partial scholarship. He gave them all free apartments in his building until graduation and the scholarship included all on campus meals, and all course materials, which was by no means a small consideration. There were state of the art labs in the building, a first rate security system, and equally as important, a gourmet coffee shop in the lobby, a true staple for all budding young scientists. He could work there without having too much set up involved and he could probably even poke around a bit on campus. He would email a contact there, because if there was anywhere he didn't mind helping out with nothing to gain, it was MIT. They never asked him for anything, well, except for extravagant alumni donations and the more than occasional commencement address, but still, nothing like what S.H.I.E.L.D. expected, those greedy bastards.

He couldn't wait to tell Dummy they were going back to Boston, well, technically Cambridge, but whatever.

And thank you, brain, for your cooperation, _finally._

It would take the better part of a day to get everything ready, preparing JARVIS would take most of that, and then make the drive. Realistically he could be there in a day, two if Pepper was really on a warpath when she found out about him checking out of here. What he needed right now was a tablet or at least a phone. For that he would either have to wait, definitely not his forte, or he would have to wake Bruce up, which meant making some kind of noise, which most likely meant there would be pain, but there was a reason everyone on the planet quoted the old adage "no pain, no gain", right?

Tony moved to sit up straighter; trying to gauge how much movement would be allowed without said pain. It was only when he moved his head that he felt the twinges. He braced himself and cleared his throat as loudly as he could. His throat was dry and sore, but not as uncomfortable as he expected. The sound produced wasn't as strong as he'd hoped, but it was still harsh and echoing in the stillness of the room, and it almost had the desired effect. It was Clint who stirred then snorted awake.

"Tony," Barton whispered as he strolled over to the bed, rubbing his eyes. "What's up buddy? What do you need?"

Tony mimed holding something in front of him, then moved his thumbs in imitation of texting. He really hoped Barton caught on because he didn't want to resort to the outstretched thumb and pinky finger next to his ear, it might still be the most common gesture for a phone, but it was outdated and stupid. Luckily, he was spared the disgrace of having to go there as Clint pulled his phone from his pocket. See, his favorite for a reason.

Tony sent an email to himself tagged as 'attention JARVIS', knowing his AI scanned all of his incoming messages and would read it. He outlined his plan, cryptically, told his brilliant creation to get his bots ready to travel and, with the dreaded caps lock on, typed emphatically that this was between them, nobody else was to know, no matter what their clearance or what override codes they had, or if they threatened to throw a vibranium shield through the door, then stated as strongly as caps lock and ten exclamation points would allow that no return messages were to be sent to the phone he was using…paranoid; yes, stupid; absolutely not.

"Care to tell me what's going on? Well, not tell, exactly, but you know what I mean." Clint said, grinning and reaching for his phone as Tony pulled it away, still trying to eradicate all traces of the message, now that it was safely stored on his private server.

He shook his head very slowly and somewhat playfully. It hurt, but it was time to stop being a diva about it. At least he hoped it seemed playful to Barton since he wasn't sure how effective rolling one eye was, and his smirk probably made him look more constipated than mischievous, but he wasn't brave enough to attempt anything close to a smile yet, that agony still too fresh in his mind, he would be a prima donna about that particular pain for a while yet, which was okay because he certainly didn't have too much to smile about these days.

"You know Stark, I've wanted you to shut up since I met you, but it's not as fun as I thought it would be. Laryngitis would be fun, this not so much."

And because he couldn't stick out his tongue, he gave Barton the finger. He couldn't actually remember the last time he'd stuck his tongue out at somebody; he was just being bitchy because he couldn't.

He opened the note app on Clint's phone and typed, _How soon till they let me out? _before passing the phone to its owner.

"Seriously?" It was said with a long suffering sigh.

_Yes, seriously. How long do they expect me to stay in here? _He kept his face serious, because why the hell would Barton think he was joking about that?

"Tony, do you have any idea of the extent of your injuries?"

_Broken bones in the cheek, orbit and jaw. Concussion, but mild, and road rash all over the left side but minimal to no nerve damage. I'm actually quite intelligent in case you haven't heard._

"I've heard, quite often, from you." He deadpanned, but the eyebrow quirk lessened the effect. "If you're so goddamned smart why do you think they'd release you with that laundry list of damages?"

_It's a broken face; it'll heal no matter where I am. It's literally all about just sitting around and waiting for it to heal on its own._ He decided not to mention the antibiotics and other precautions needed to make sure no infection set in._ And before you say anything about my new diet restrictions, I have a bot that's quite literally in love with the blender and a live-in archer who offered to make cheeseburger and spicy fry smoothies for me._

"I'm not saying you have to stay till you're fully healed asshole, but a couple of days at least." Tony's expression must have conveyed something, because Barton added, "You're planning to take off aren't you? Don't get finger cramps," he said, putting his hand over Tony's on the keypad, "I know you are."

Tony nodded, and at least it felt better than every other time he'd done it. He didn't want anyone to know where he was going, but he didn't want to lie to Barton. They would all know he wasn't at the tower, there was no avoiding that, but that's all he wanted them to know. Maybe it would be okay if Pepper and Clint knew.

_Listen bird brain, I was okay to move around a filthy, fucking freezing cave in Afghanistan shortly after a much more delicate and involved surgery, I crawled hundreds of feet to my lab while mostly paralyzed and going into cardiac arrest…I can do this and I'll be okay._

The shocked look on his friends face did not go unnoticed. In fact, it looked as if Clint was getting ready to point out all the reasons why this time he didn't have to cut his recovery time short. He decided to derail that train of thought right away.

_I need to not be here for a little while, just while I heal. No tears, I know you'll miss me, but I, Tony Stark, do solemnly swear to return as soon as Fury will let me back in the suit. _Clint still looked as though he wanted to argue, so he continued typing…_I'm going to a place I own where I know people, I won't be alone and I'll have JARVIS and the bots. I need this Clint. _He put on the most earnest half-face he could and looked up at the archer.

"I don't like it, but I do get it." Clint was looking at him, not with pity, thank god, but with something akin to respect, adding to the growing list of reasons he liked Barton best. "I probably wouldn't stay either, and Tony…" The archer rubbed his hand over his face slowly as if deliberating saying more just then, but exhaled slowly and continued, "I know you care about him, and I know you said some shitty things, but you didn't deserve it, any of it. Please tell me you know you didn't deserve this."

And, really, how the hell was he supposed to answer that? Despite what Clint and Pepper expected, he wasn't mad at Steve. He didn't blame him at all, not for the punch and not for the kiss. He accepted most of the responsibility for everything. Yeah, the punch was too hard, but that was just a result of bad timing with the armor, that doesn't mean it was undeserved. Tony had said some pretty nasty things but he'd been angry at the time and very hurt. Many people had been that pissed off at him before, hell, he could think of more than a few times when he'd wanted to punch himself in the face, but Steve was the only one with balls enough to actually do it.

He would tell Clint half the truth, but only because he wanted his friends help getting the hell out of New York.

_I may not have deserved quite that degree of wrath from a super soldier, but I did my best to piss him off. _ He could see Clint preparing to argue again and looked back at the phone and started typing. _Whatever, it sucks, but it's done. Let me go lick my wounds peacefully and privately and then I'll come back…really…and be the same asshole you know and love._

Barton nodded, "let me ask a few questions and see what I can do." Tony was going to spend some serious time upgrading Hawkeye's bow for this, and maybe some awesome new arrows too. After Clint left, Tony's thoughts strayed back to whether he or not he thought he deserved this.

When he'd seen Steve with that woman it was the worst he'd felt in a long time, too similar to the helpless, paralyzed state Obie had inflicted on him. Yeah, he wasn't in danger of dying, and Pepper's life wasn't threatened either, but the all encompassing despair was the same. When he'd seen that, the two of them kissing, everything had stopped, the blood in his veins, the breath in his lungs and the superhighway of information speeding through his brain, and it had fucking _hurt_. He was loathe to admit it, even to himself, but if he hadn't worked himself up into that defensive anger, he would have actually shed tears, and that was a weakness Howard had cured him of over thirty years ago.

He had never put it all out there with Steve, never told him how he felt. There were some pretty altruistic reasons behind that, but look where the fuck that had gotten him. He was all too aware of how smothering he could be, just ask Pepper, and he just hadn't wanted to push Steve or make him define things he might be uncomfortable with at first…but he'd honestly thought 40's mentality would equate fooling around and having sex with "going steady", he hadn't really thought he needed to explain that.

Did they even have fuck buddies back then? Maybe in the army some of Steve's guys had that kind of thing going on. He was starting to get what Pepper meant when she rode his ass about good communication and his inability to clarify boundaries.

After things with Pepper didn't work out, he'd known, seriously fucking _known _that he wasn't cut out for the world of serious relationships. He'd never, not even once before her, thought of "settling down." There was just too much out there for him, too many women and a few men as well, too much sex, too many parties, and he was as shallow as the rest of them. Who needed the misery, hurt and bitterness of failed commitments or, god forbid, divorce? But he'd thought about it once or twice while he and Pepper were together, in the beginning anyways.

Maybe his relationship with Steve was too soon after Pep; maybe the thoughts about forever were just left over. Right, even drunk off his ass he wouldn't believe that. He was in love with Steve Rogers and that's why he thought about forever at least twice a week these days, but had he told Steve any of that? No. As they had lain together afterwards, sated and euphoric, had he told Steve that he wanted that every goddamned day for the rest of his life? No. His previous commitment phobic and incredibly slutty lifestyle was all Steve had to go on and Tony hadn't said a single thing to let Steve know just how new and different this was for the renowned playboy Tony Stark, and it was all his fucking fault, not Steve's, none of it Steve's.

Steve obviously didn't feel the same but Tony certainly couldn't blame him for that. Tony was no stranger to people wanting him for his body, his fame, for the promise of pleasure his reputation touted. Honestly, though, he had at least thought _something_ was reciprocated, besides mind blowing orgasms, maybe not love, but something. The human equation was one problem he just couldn't figure out no matter how hard he tried—he fucked it up every single time.

So here he was, disillusioned yet again, and now with the added joy of a half broken face and a crushing ache in his chest. Despite being an incredibly selfish bastard he could do this; he could take a little time, a lot of alcohol, bury it deep, and be friends with Captain America again, maybe not with Steve Rogers right away, but he could keep that difference to himself. If there was one thing he'd learned from Howard, (and thanks for that dad) it was Stark men are stronger than that, made of iron, if you will. Well, not their jaws apparently, but he would pull through this because he pulled through everything. He _was_ stronger than that. He was Iron Man.

What seemed likes minutes later Clint came back. He must have dozed off again though, because Bruce was no longer in the room, Clint was freshly showered and it was dark outside now.

"You are the luckiest son of a bitch alive." Clint said, without qualifying it.

Tony sat up to show he wasn't an invalid, and gave him the best 'what the hell look' he could manage, since he no longer had Clint's phone to type on. He was a lot of things, but funnily enough, he didn't consider lucky to be one of them right now. The ironic thing was that he had thought of himself as lucky recently. Being with Steve, having Steve _choose_ him, had made him feel like "the luckiest son of a bitch alive". Even that small thought was ridiculously painful and he was more than grateful when he realized Clint was oblivious to the emotions wreaking havoc inside him.

"First, here's a tablet," Barton said as he reached into a duffle bag slung over his shoulder and pulled it out. "Second, you were right; you can pretty much recuperate anywhere, with a few precautions. And third, everyone else is going to that stupid benefit tonight, so it's just you and me till Banner sneaks away. Don't give me that look Tony; it was either talk to him, or a S.H.I.E.L.D. doctor."

Tony knew Clint was right, and nodded, though very grudgingly. Yeah, he was still a bit bitchy, so sue him; you certainly wouldn't be the first. _Wait—the benefit is tonight?_ He'd been out longer than he thought.

"Here," he said, pulling clothes out of the bag. "Is JARVIS getting things ready for you? I know that's who you sent the message to earlier."

Sometimes the carnival freak from Iowa was too smart for his own good, Tony thought, but he couldn't have been happier that Clint was someone he could list up there with Pepper and Rhodey as a very good friend. He nodded again, it was starting to hurt less, but the real test would be getting dressed.

"Good. I grabbed some clothes, nothing fancy, just a few dozen band t-shirts," he smirked and crossed his arms over his chest. "Teenagers don't even have that many, Tony, you're a freak. Anyways, some other shit too, just to get you started." Clint had the feeling Tony would be gathering stuff from his lab, not his bedroom when they returned to the tower, so he had taken the time to grab a few essentials from his room and pack for him, they could get more stuff later if needed. Little did he know that just about every place Tony Stark owned was stocked with some of his things and ready for him to drop in without even a moment's notice. Except for food, that Tony would have to have brought in.

Tony couldn't type and do anything else at the same time, which slowed them down a bit. Clint helped with Tony's shoes so he didn't have to lower his head too much and they slipped out quietly and headed to the motor pool. He didn't know how the archer had cleared their path, he wasn't sure he even wanted that information, but he was incredibly grateful.

"Type out what I need to know, where you're going, and how much JARVIS will be able to help while on the ride over." Clint was all business at the moment, and Tony felt another rush of gratitude for the man. It would be great if he could bring him along too, just to have him there. He didn't need anyone to explain why Clint wasn't going to the benefit tonight, and though it helped his own cause considerably, he still felt bad that the man was treated like a traitor sometimes.

"Are you okay, Tony?" His head was killing him after so much activity and Barton must be able to see it.

He nodded, this time more vigorously, which made his head throb worse, but he wanted Clint to know that he could do this. Clint had muttered softly when prompted by Tony that Steve was going tonight with the agent he'd been slobbering all over. The pain in his chest opened up, stabbing deep and burrowing in to settle behind the arc reactor, he'd been able to pass it off as general broken face related pain, hopefully, but the archer hadn't commented if he knew.

"There's one more thing…" Clint mumbled, letting the sentence trail away. Tony could tell this wasn't going to be good and the archer confirmed his suspicions a second later when he continued. "You're not going to like it Tony, but I didn't really have a choice." He didn't add anything further, instead choosing to leave the statement out there for a minute, gearing up for the argument he knew was about to come.

"Pepper is meeting us with Banner." He said quickly, keeping his eyes fixed firmly on the road and not on his passenger, knowing Tony couldn't really respond and not wanting to see the look on his face. "Really, you can't expect her not to realize you're gone and you seriously can't expect me or Bruce to hold up under the interrogation you _know_ she would put us through. I've withstood torturers less intimidating than her." Sure, it was an attempt at humor, something to lighten the mood, but every word of it was true.

* * *

[1] **Josef Mengele** ( 1911 –1979) was a German _Schutzstaffel_ (SS) officer and physician in Auschwitz concentration camp during World War II. He was notorious for the selection of victims to be killed in the gas chambers and for performing unscientific and often deadly human experiments on prisoners. After the war, he fled to South America, where he evaded capture for the rest of his life.

[2] **Stubbins Ffirth** (1784–1820 was an American trainee doctor notable for his unusual investigations into the cause of yellow fever. He theorized that the disease was not contagious. Ffirth decided to bring himself into direct contact with bodily fluids from those that had become infected. He started to make incisions on his arms and smeared vomit into the cuts, then proceeded to pour it onto his eyeballs. He continued to try to infect himself using infected vomit by frying it and inhaling the fumes, and, when he did not become ill, drank it undiluted.

**A/N:** Thanks so much to everyone who has taken the time to leave feedback, it is greatly appreciated.


	4. Chapter 4

**_A/N:_**No religious offense meant in this chapter...I was raised Catholic myself, went to Catholic school and all, so I speak from experience about the guilt associated when certain beliefs differ from those of The Church :)

* * *

Steve stood in front of the mirror on his closet door, staring, perplexed at his reflection. This shirt was not only brand new, but very expensive and picked out by Tony who had insisted all those weeks ago, despite Steve's many protests at the outrageous price tag, that it would be perfect with his tuxedo. He'd thought about wearing his dress uniform, he was representing the Avengers as Captain America but his Kevlar and spandex was out of the question, so at least his military uniform was fitting. Upon further reflection, though, this was black tie and a date, so he ultimately decided to go with the tux. He wasn't exactly unaccustomed to fancy clothes, but this shirt Tony had been adamant about giving him didn't have any buttons, just button holes up both sides of the front and at the cuffs, and he was confused about that. Obviously something went through the two sets of holes to keep the shirt closed, but he had no idea what that something was. Well, he knew cufflinks were needed for the sleeves and he figured it was something like that for the front as well, but he didn't have any of those either. And when he went to get his other one, the one with actual buttons, he found it was suspiciously missing. He called Natasha for help and she told him to meet her at Tony's room.

"You need tuxedo studs and cufflinks for that," she said, smirking at his confusion. "Stark will have dozens of things to choose from, I'm sure," she added, opening his bedroom door. It felt strange to be in here without Tony, or his permission at least. He couldn't help looking towards the large bed, sheets still disheveled from the most recent and very erotic tryst with Tony, and he felt himself blush from the memories. He yanked his thoughts and his eyes away from the bed, now was certainly not the time for that.

"Let's see what he's got," she said, opening the large wooden chest atop Tony's dresser. She whistled lowly in appreciation of the sight within. "Holy shit," she muttered and picked up a tiny black gem on a silver post and walked over to him. She showed him how to slip it through the holes and turn the cross bar to secure it. "He's got tons to choose from. The cuffs work the same way, but cufflinks are bigger. Those are on the second tray down," she added, pointing to the deceptively large chest now that it was open. He knew what cufflinks were, everyone wore them back in his day, but he didn't bother to say anything about it to her.

"I've got to finish getting ready," she said, turning away and heading out of the room. Steve couldn't figure out what she possibly had left to do, she looked fantastic. He wanted to ask her if she'd had hot water, because again he hadn't, but decided against it, knowing JARVIS would hear. He did ask her about Fury's lack of outrage at him, except for the iron stare of that single glaring eyeball.

When she turned back towards him in the doorway she was adorned with a smug expression that could rival even Tony's. "You owe me big time for that, but it'll come up. He knows everything, has played back every microsecond of footage. He agrees with me that if the mask wasn't down you wouldn't have given into the urge to…" she trailed off at the look of extreme discomfort on Steve's face, most likely at reliving the moment, but just maybe at the idea of Fury replaying the scene over and over.

"Thank you again, Natasha. I do owe you. I owe you so much." His voice was too soft and tremulous. It felt like she was his only friend in the world right now and he needed her to know how much that meant to him. Before he could compose himself and make another attempt at expressing his gratitude she spoke again.

"There is no doubt in my mind that you would do the same for me, Steve." Her expression was soft because she was about the most astute person he had ever met and she could read him like an open book. "I do have one piece of advice though, talk to Thor as soon as you can so the discussion doesn't happen in front of prying eyes. He'll want to hear your side of the story." With that she was walking away again.

He wanted to say he doubted it, but he couldn't. Thor was many things and though he could be hot headed at times, he could be quite diplomatic as well.

Instead, he picked up the rest of the matching studs and fixed them through the shirt the way Natasha had shown him. He turned to face the full length mirror, and had to admit the small studs made a difference. Of course Tony would know that, and probably had been planning to laugh at Steve's ignorance over it; he'd seen the gems on the inventor's shirts before but had just assumed they were fancy buttons.

He imagined getting ready for tonight with Tony. He would be here just like now, not having studs for the shirt Tony had given him. Maybe Tony had planned it that way; surely he knew Steve wouldn't have cufflinks or shirt studs. Why would he do that though? Would they be helping each other with last minute details like this or maybe with the bowties? Tony wouldn't need help; of course, he dressed like this often and was very used to it. Heck, Tony probably learned to tie a bowtie before he learned to tie his shoes.

He could imagine how Tony would be smiling at him now; saying lewd things about how Steve looked all dressed up. The genius did that a lot actually, both the smiles and the comments, ever since that first kiss in the workshop. A wave of guilt washed over him again, not that Tony would be missing this event, because he hated them most of the time, but he had seemed happy when he asked Steve about his particular plans for this evening and been told the soldier had none. Had Tony wanted this to be a date? No, he couldn't imagine that. Maybe he had just wanted company because he said often enough that events like this were downright tedious. Usually he found a gorgeous woman or two to stem the boredom, had that been his plan tonight as well?

Suddenly he didn't feel right being here alone. The smell of Tony's expensive cologne and his lingering presence was everywhere. The effect was unsettling and he hurried to pick a matching pair of cufflinks before leaving the room. He couldn't keep his eyes off the bed as he passed, and the nervous fluttering was in his chest again. He couldn't get to his own room quick enough to finish getting ready.

oOoOoOo

Claire looked lovely but was wearing an incredibly form fitting gown of deep red. To call the neckline plunging would be a gross understatement, he was pretty sure he could see the top of her navel, and Steve had to look away quickly to try and stem the heat he felt rising in his cheeks. Thankfully she pulled a wrap from a hook by the door and covered herself a bit before heading to the car. He was getting used to the overt displays of sexuality in this century, but having it so close to him for the entire evening might be a challenge.

Though Claire clutched the wrap close to her chest in the car, it was allowed to slip down her back once inside. The ends were draped gracefully over her elbows, drawing attention once again to the depth of her cleavage. More than a few heads turned as they entered the ballroom and there was a distinct lull in conversation from the small groups of attendees they passed. It brought back memories of a smoky bar filled with soldiers reveling loudly before the same sudden hush fell and another vision in form fitting red appeared.

The similarities between the two women pretty much ended there. Peggy was taller, darker, a lot more modest and a lot less clingy than Claire. It had taken nearly two and a half hours before his date left his side to approach some other people that she knew. Steve, relieved by her absence, approached his three fellow teammates and Dr. Foster. The first few times the teammates had gathered to chat Claire had been holding tightly to his arm. It was a little bit more forward than he was used to and incredibly uncomfortable when he found Pepper Potts staring icily at them more than once.

"You are indeed a lucky man, Captain." Thor said loudly, eyeing Claire. "Your companion is charming as well as…" He trailed off, probably searching for a polite way to describe the way she was dressed, though she was hardly the only woman in the room wearing something so revealing, when Natasha cut in.

"Unashamed? An exhibitionist? Promiscuous?" She offered, looking as serenely at Thor as if she'd asked about the weather on Asgard.

Steve blushed scarlet, Bruce cleared his throat quietly, Dr. Foster giggled and Thor just looked helpless.

"Steve, she's trying too hard, surely you see that." Natasha continued, though not unkindly.

"Trying for what?" Steve questioned, though the moment it came out he regretted it.

"For your attention, to stake a claim, let everyone here know that you're with her. She sees the way everyone's looking at you and she wants to be part of it too…her fifteen minutes of fame"

Steve looked a little unsure, and asked, "I don't think everyone is looking at me, are they?"

"Did you even look in a mirror earlier? Everyone here has checked you out at least once tonight, and that includes the gay women and the straight guys."

Steve's face darkened even further to an alarming shade of maroon, Bruce winced slightly before coughing nervously, Dr. Foster tried but failed to stifle a burst of outright laughter and Thor said a little too loudly, "You are a fine specimen Captain."

He was used to hearing things like that from Tony, but not the rest of the team. Truth be told, he thought Tony looked much better in a tux than he did. The suave billionaire could wear anything and make it look sexy. He just exuded so much confidence and innate grace that Steve always felt slightly in awe of the other man because of it. If Tony had come tonight Steve had no doubt that every eye in the room would be fixed on him, he was dashing, charismatic, witty and an absolute knockout. He wished he was here with Tony now; everything would be easier to deal with because Tony had such a way with these types of things. He hated them, yes, but that didn't mean he wasn't successful at it.

"He is, isn't he?" Claire said silkily, sliding her hand through the crook of his arm again. Steve had failed to notice her return; he'd been too caught up thinking about Tony to hear her approach.

Bruce cleared his throat again and looked at Steve and Thor before saying in a near whisper, "I think I'm going to head home, not really a fan of crowds, and I think I've been here long enough to make Fury happy."

He shook hands with Steve and Thor, mumbled a quick goodnight to Clair and Dr. Foster and turned to Natasha, "Thank you for a lovely evening, Natasha; I'll see you back at the tower."

The five watched him go and settled back in for the rest of the evening. There was no way Fury wanted anyone but Dr. Banner leaving before the event ended, Agent Hill had been very clear about that. It was another few hours of shaking hands, drumming up support and spreading good will for the Avengers before the room started to empty. With Natasha's guidance Claire had been a more pleasant companion as the night wore on, less adhered to him and generally more easy going, laughing at the politicians silly jokes and talking fashion with their wives.

Steve was nervous when they pulled up to Claire's house. He knew he should walk her to the door, tell her he'd had a wonderful time and kiss her goodnight. That was the way these things used to work anyways, but now things were so much different. What if she invited him in? Would that lead to "fooling around" as Tony referred to it? He was ready for that now, or experienced at it anyways. Tony had taught him so much, and sure there was a difference, Tony was a man after all, but the mechanics of it were pretty much the same. Did he want that with Claire? Two days ago he thought he had, but now he wasn't sure, he couldn't help feeling like the timing just wasn't right.

She took the majority of the decision out of his hands, however, when they reached her door and before he could get a word out she pulled him in for a crushing kiss. Her lips were cool, matching the temperature of the pre dawn hour, and waxy tasting from her lipstick. She moved her mouth over his skillfully and circled both arms around his neck, stretching on her toes to do so. He felt he had no choice but to place his hands on her waist to steady her. She pulled her mouth away and whispered huskily for him to come inside as she fiddled with her house key.

This was it, something he'd been wanting for a very long time, something Bucky and the rest of the guys talked about near endlessly some days. He breathed deeply for a few moments and followed her inside. She was very pretty and sort of sweet too, in a way. There was no doubt that she wanted him, she'd been a bit more coy about it than some of the girls on the USO tour had, but he recognized the signs despite his naïveté. He'd only had eyes for Peggy back then, but there was nothing stopping him now, though he was a little uncomfortable with how fast things seemed to be moving. He came to a decision as he followed her example and took a seat on the sofa; he wouldn't let it go that far, not on their first date. He had a feeling it would be difficult to stop, he knew how amazing he felt with Tony, always the need for more, and this would be even better without the stigma of so much sin.

Again she took the initiative, moving closer and sliding her lips over his once more. He leaned in, wrapped his arms around her and drew her in close before opening his mouth to her eager tongue. She tasted a little bitter from wine at the gala and still the slightly plastic remnants of her lipstick. He moved his hand from around her waist up the soft, satiny line of her back to curl at the nape of her neck. Usually it was one of his favorite things about kissing, the soft waves of hair threaded through his fingers contrasting with the rough texture of facial hair surrounding his lips, scratching deliciously and spurring him on to delve deeper with his tongue but not be able to get close enough to the exquisite scraping rapture that never failed to set fire to his skin in the very best of ways.

This was so very different from that. The hair at Clair's nape was stiff with product, hardly allowing his fingers through without pulling, and obviously there was a distinct lack of facial hair. It wasn't that her smooth skin felt bad, just not the same.

As they continued to kiss she slipped her hand under his jacket and ran it up and down his chest, urging him back against the cushions of the sofa. Her small hand was much cooler and gentler than he was used to, and once it roamed over his chest and back up to settle on his neck in imitation of his own hand, she tugged softly, turning them so that it was her back pressing into the soft cushions. He pulled his hand from her starchy nape and moved it around her graceful neck and down to her collarbone, pausing there while gathering his nerve to slide slowly down and over her nearly exposed bosom. She arched her back, bringing herself even closer to him in a clear sign of invitation.

He had never felt a breast, a female breast, before but he'd certainly heard a lot about how wonderful it was, soft, yielding and lust inspiring. The smooth satin of her gown helped guide his hand, brining it around the robust mound until his fingers found her smooth flesh where it heaved from the material. She pulled her lips slightly from his at the touch and moaned softly. The sound was something that had always sent waves of arousal through him before converging in his groin, but this sound was different; lighter and more playful, almost like an exaggerated sigh. The sound was sweet, but inspired no arousal, no lust, and no need.

Maybe he was doing something wrong. She seemed to be enjoying it, but he couldn't actually say the same about himself. Yes, he was nervous, and maybe his body was behaving because of that, but he couldn't help thinking about how worked up he usually was after one kiss like that with Tony, one touch from the brilliant man had his body responding willingly, his heart pounding and his fingers itching to return the touch. He shook himself mentally, realizing he needed to concentrate on the here and now, on Claire and their budding relationship and stop distracting himself with immoral thoughts.

It worked for almost five whole seconds, until he looked into her eyes. They were a very attractive shade of green but not the liquid chocolate ones he wanted to see. Not the big, beautiful ones framed in the thick dark fringe of lashes. The ones he was looking at were dull, the lashes clumpy and phony, an attempt to simulate what Tony had naturally. Everything about this moment was a very pale imitation of what he wanted. That thought had his body responding in the ways he was used to. This was supposed to feel _right,_ natural in the way the Lord intended, the union between man and woman. What he actually felt was the exact opposite of that.

It wasn't that he was just nervous or that this, he and Claire together, wasn't what he was used to, it wasn't even that it was too soon with her. It was just—just wrong—his brain was buzzing and his skin felt itchy all over, but neither in a good way. And now that he had something to compare, he had no choice but to realize that what he craved, yearned for in a way that left him nearly breathless was Tony. The wrongness of his current situation was startling when compared with how perfect everything seemed to feel with his teammate.

Tony's strong and needy touch, his wonderful taste and tantalizing scent, the undeniable heat of his body and the worship returned in Tony's gaze. He had no trouble recalling the fervency of that stare, and the memory of the way the genius looked at him, not sometimes, but every time struck something deep within Steve, the fluttering in his chest more profound than ever and a scintillating warmth that spread to every cell in his body. Right now he would give anything to have that, but what he really, truly wanted was Tony's heart. He wanted Tony to be his, and only his; he wanted Tony to be in love with him, because that's exactly what this was. He was in love with Tony Stark, and looking back on their encounters together he suspected Tony had felt the same way about him for quite some time.

The epiphany struck him like a repulsor blast to the face.

He extricated himself as gracefully as possible from Clair's arms and then from her house. Granted, it really wasn't very graceful at all, but he could barely explain it to himself, never mind her. He couldn't even remember the lame excuse he'd made by the time he reached the car, but he did remember saying he would call her later that day. She had not been happy, but she wasn't the hurt one he was concentrating on at the moment.

The shock of it all was dampened by an impending sense of dread. Not only was what he wanted against his faith, but he had ruined any chance he had at it with the events from two days ago. How is it possible that he never realized how either of them felt? Had Tony been waiting for him to feel the same way before saying anything? That was an even more gut wrenching thought as he remembered the hurt in Tony's eyes when he'd rounded the corner to find Steve kissing someone else.

At the time he'd been mad at Tony for his cold attitude, for the genius trying to ruin Steve's moment with Claire. He groaned loudly and banged his head on the steering wheel at his own stupidity.

He should drive to the hospital at HQ right now, beg forgiveness and ask Tony for answers to the questions swimming in his head. With a clench in his chest he remembered that Tony didn't want to see him; that the other members of the team were allowed entrance to his room, but he was not. If he tried to force his way in it would mean not only an altercation with Clint, who was surely still in Tony's room, but also answers he just may not be ready for, his revelation being only minutes old.

He'd hurt Tony with more than just the punch, and the guilt that had been hovering around the edges of his sanity for almost two days was about to undo him now. Where minutes ago his insides were actually squirming with joy, now his skin felt like it was shrinking, trying to strangle his chest and release the wriggling in his stomach that had turned from something almost pleasant to something itchy and clawing. In addition to the turmoil in his gut he felt the hollowness return in his chest, the bone deep ache of loneliness and loss. He hadn't even been aware when it left him, that despair that had been a part of him since the ice, but now that it was back, it was so much worse.

He couldn't stop himself from seeing the broken look on Tony's face, the tremor highlighting the hurt in his voice before the anger set in. He closed his eyes at a stop sign in an attempt to clear his mind of the awful vision, but the image was back a moment later in even more vivid detail. His hands were shaking and every breath felt like an effort. He couldn't see Tony like this. He needed to collect himself, at least, before he did even more damage due to his over emotional state.

Punching the bag into the early morning hours he came to the realization that maybe Steve Rogers never woke up from the ice, maybe it was only Captain America here now, master at compartmentalizing, denying himself for the good of everyone else, insulating himself from his deepest desires because those wants weren't conducive to the norm. Because Steve Rogers wouldn't have used a friend like that, Steve wouldn't have taken what he wanted and the hell with everyone else, and Steve wouldn't have hurt someone he cared about so badly. Steve had always known what he wanted without doubt and without confusion, getting it had been a different story, but he'd never wavered in his convictions or his attempts. Maybe Steve had died that day with Bucky, letting all of his hopes and dreams fall into the depths of that icy ravine, and maybe Dr. Erskine had been wrong about good becoming better.

That's how Natasha found him, still mostly dressed in a tuxedo, soaked with sweat, hands numb and bloody again, after already healing from the atrocity two days ago, and so disgusted with himself that he could hardly think anymore, every thought more painful than the previous.

"Let's talk, Steve." She said in that 'don't even think of arguing with me' voice she used almost daily with Clint. She completely understood the need for working the body hard as a method of soul searching, had been there herself more times than she wanted to remember, but Steve looked like he'd passed that point a while ago and was on the verge of snapping. When he turned from the bag to face her she tossed a water bottle to him and sat gracefully on the floor mat.

His face was nothing short of pure torment as he approached and dropped to the mat beside her. If she had to guess, she would say he had finally realized his feelings for Stark and that his actions with Bennett did as much damage as the outright violence that followed. Thinking back to a conversation months ago about homosexuality, the church, the military and Steve's contorted look of unasked questions she also guessed he was having difficulty rationalizing his newfound feelings with his faith. It was bullshit and narrow minded, but he was raised in a time when that was common.

"Sexuality is a pretty complex thing Steve; it can be difficult to reconcile with one's faith, but it's ludicrous to think of it in terms of right and wrong." She paused for effect, knowing she'd caught him off guard with that opener, but she also didn't want him to feel like he had to defend his feelings.

The look he gave her was, if possible, even more tortured. Sweet Jesus, these two boys needed to pull their heads out of their asses and just get together already. She would do anything she could to help, but Stark was so self-deprecating sometimes and Steve was mistakenly bound to some weird sort of 40's convention that she would definitely have her work cut out for her.

"I understand that may be a bit more difficult for you, based on when you grew up, but you're hurting more than just yourself by denying it." Her eyes bore into him, challenging him to argue, but her tone was oddly soft. "Accept it and move on from there, what other choice do you have?" It might seem like a cold approach to take, but this was Cap, and he understood and appreciated a swift and precise appraisal of any situation because no matter what else he was, he was a damn fine soldier as well.

She was right. Of course she was right. So many things had changed and he needed to wrap his head around that, but why was it so hard? Why was it so easy for him to accept the existence of aliens, gods even, but not that he was attracted to men, to Tony? How could something that felt so perfect, before he'd destroyed it or even realized how he felt about it, be so wrong? He realized then that he had been fighting himself all along. That him thinking he was just having fun, letting off steam with Tony was his minds way of trying to deny who he wanted and essentially what he was. And just when he figured out how long he'd been fighting it, he felt tired. Tired of the struggle to deny, deny, always deny. Tired of pretending to be something he wasn't. In so many quiet moments with Tony, sometimes intimate but sometimes not, he had been able to just be himself. There was nothing he could do about the fact that he had been too stupid to realize it then. He would forever regret it, but that wouldn't help him move forward, and it was definitely time to start living the life he was meant to.

Hopefully he could earn Tony's forgiveness, he didn't deserve it, but he would spend eternity trying to make it up to him.

"I really messed things up, Natasha," he admitted almost shyly.

"You mean with Stark or with agent Belly Button?" She knew what he meant, of course, she was highly trained at reading people, Stark aside (and she would get to that in a minute), but she couldn't resist.

"Well, both," he huffed a small, embarrassed laugh. "I meant with Tony though." He stared down at his hands, at his long fingers curved around the bottle of water. This was about to be the most uncomfortable conversation he'd ever had with another person, but it was high time he admitted it out loud.

"I didn't even realize I was in love with him until tonight." It came out so unlike him, so weak, but at least he'd said it. Once that hurtle was over the rest came tumbling in its wake. "How the hell could I be feeling something like that and not even know it? I had everything I've always wanted…the intimacy, the bond, the mutual love and trust and I didn't see it until it was too late." He shook his head in disgust then opened the bottle in his hand and took a sip.

"When I look back it's so obvious but why couldn't I have seen it then?" He finally looked up at her, not really for an answer to his question, more just to find some small comfort in sharing his deepest secrets with another person. "It feels like I don't know myself at all; like I'm not sure who I even am anymore."

"The human mind is capable of repressing many things Steve—fear, grief, sadness, truth. I've seen it many times, in friends and enemies alike." As she spoke she reached out and covered his hand lying listless on the mat. She squeezed it briefly before continuing, "Don't beat yourself up over it, you've been conditioned to repress your feelings since before you were old enough to even realize it. Now that you do though, you can work on changing it."

"I've been a sinner all along; I've just been telling myself—fooling myself—that it wasn't what I really wanted or who I really was. I hurt the person I care most about in this world because I was too ignorant to figure that out on my own." He looked down again as he starting picking at the label on the water bottle, too embarrassed to say what he was about to while looking at her but taking a steadying breath to continue. "I let myself believe I was just like the guys during the war, relieving a little tension, sexual tension, and having some fun until the right girl came along." The back of his neck and tips of his ears were warm and no doubt very red at the confession.

"I didn't do…_that,_ back then, because I had met the right girl, or so I thought. She was worth waiting for, and I'm glad I did wait. Then I woke up here, in this time, and everything is so different and when I had the chance I took it because I knew there was no one waiting for me or that I was waiting for." He tore the tattered remains of the label from the bottle in his hand and set it down before he ended up throwing it against the wall. "But it was wrong—I was wrong—being with him before, and how I want to be with him now goes against everything I was brought up to believe, goes against my faith. It's a sin no matter how I try to justify it."

"Steve," she reached out again to cover his hand and he realized that both of his hands were now clenched into very tight fists, knuckles white and straining. "I'm not a religious person, but even I know the Catholic Church considers 'any sexual act not relating to procreation by a couple joined under the sacrament of matrimony' as sinful." He would wonder later at her word perfect quote of scripture. "So that is a rule you'll break, a sin with either a man or a woman or yourself Steve, and yet you'll keep yourself from happiness with Tony based on the same scripture or doctrine that you follow sometimes and stray from at others? And as someone who wants to follow the faith so carefully, how do you explain Thor?" she asked, echoing his own internal questions, and he had to look away at the slight blush, something he had never seen or expected to see on her. Honestly, his face was equally as pink listening to her talk about sex and masturbation.

He was trying to think of a way to change the subject before it got any more uncomfortable, but she started to speak again. "There are Christian denominations that feel differently, you can still be a man of faith and be with the man you love. Wouldn't it be worse denying him and yourself only to spend the rest of your life fighting it?" She added, blush fading and eyes boring into his.

She definitely wasn't pulling any punches, but that was never her style and he did appreciate it, no matter how hard it was to hear. He understood where she was coming from and she had made some very valid points, but he didn't want to continue discussing the rights and wrongs of his poor choices anymore. He had some thinking to do on his own.

"Yes, that would be worse. But this isn't a fairytale, Natasha. There might not be a happy ending." He didn't think he deserved one, but he chose not to voice that particular sentiment.

"Isn't it though?" She smirked, and the lightness of her expression was a welcome change. "Once upon a time a soul-strong but body-weak young man dreamed of becoming more, stronger, to fight for his country and help defeat evil." The left side of her mouth twisted slightly into an impish grin before she raised both hands, splaying her fingers wide and continuing, " Poof…along comes his fairy god…father, Dr. Erskine, and the young man is transformed into everything he ever dreamed of being."

Her playful look intensified and she went on, "shall I continue with the enchanted sleep and knight in shining armor metaphors or are we good here?" She laughed and he was so glad to have found a friend like her. He wasn't sure he believed in fairy tales, but once again she had a very good point. She was trying to lighten the mood, so he didn't ask in what version of any fairytale the knight or prince was punched within an inch of his life by the…princess…heroine…lady of the tale, because yeah, Tony was definitely the hero in any story about the two of them.

"Steve…" All traces of the light hearted look from a moment ago were gone. "Stark is very difficult to get a read on, trust me, I'm speaking from experience. He spews so much bullshit with such bravado and arrogance that it's nearly impossible to weed out the truth, but if someone _really _listens, it is there." She sighed deeply, and he guessed she was thinking back to the evaluation she had written stating Tony should not be considered as a candidate for the Avengers. "It's all a front, a real life mask he's worn for years to protect the truth of who he really is. The surface arrogance is a defense, even though he's one of the few people who can actually back up every word of it, and he uses it to hide an almost selfless benevolence. And it works very well, too well sometimes, because he's so Goddamned infuriating that most people don't want to look any deeper."

"He's very good at nearly everything he does, Steve, and that includes hiding the truth. Don't be angry with yourself for not seeing through it. I was, at first. I couldn't believe that I had misjudged him so badly, and it led to a few sleepless nights and far too many doubts about my skills. The thing I realized, though, is that he's allowed to be better at some things than I am. He's brilliant and when he sets his mind to something his skills are as unequalled as they are unstoppable. Think about that, give him the credit he deserves instead of finding fault with yourself."

"Thank you." It was a simple statement but one that ran deep and he was certain she heard it for all that it was. She should really consider therapy as an alternate career choice, but he didn't think he needed a therapist or even a priest right now. He knew what was right for him in that moment…Tony. Tony was everything and convention be damned. Look, two sins in the same sentence and he was surprisingly okay with that…

"Don't thank me just yet." She said gravely, looking at him a little too intently, an obvious prelude to something unwelcome. He had a bad feeling about her next words and was more than a little wary. Seconds ago he had found a sort of inner peace, something he had sought for months and he couldn't help feeling like it was about to be taken away.

"The look on your face tells me you're coming to terms with your feelings, and I'm glad for that Steve. I hate to be the bearer of bad news, especially now, but there is something I've wanted to talk to you about." He had forgotten her mentioning it in his confusion over his relationship with Tony. He nodded for her to continue and braced himself, for what he had no idea, but it certainly wasn't going to be good.

"There isn't an easy way to say this…Tony was eleven when his jaw was broken the first time. It was a result of a fight with his father." She paused, letting the horror of that sink in. "That information is buried very deep, and it seems as though that wasn't the only injury…"

He could feel how wide his eyes had grown, it was bordering on uncomfortable. He knew where she was going and he did not want to hear any more. "Stop…please." It wasn't that he doubted what she was saying; just that he didn't actually want to hear her say it. He didn't need details to understand what she meant. Howard had abused Tony. There was no way she would be telling him this if she wasn't absolutely certain of it. Tony had hinted at it, referring to Howard as a bully, and not only hadn't Steve believed him, he had been mad a Tony for lying.

He remembered the genius's words from that day…_No wonder you and my bastard of a father got along so well._ Oh God, he had done the same thing Howard did. Someone Tony should trust, should have felt safe with, had done this to him—twice.

_Well, fuck you both Steve. I love you, but I won't bend over backwards anymore to earn anything from you like I did with him, the complete dickhead of a bully you can't seem to go one day without glorifying. I thought you hated bullies Steve, hated to see the smaller guy get the shit end of the stick all the time. _The memory of Tony's face as he said those words was too much. His gut clenched tight and he had no time to even move before the contents of his stomach escaped at last. He threw up on himself and on the mat; luckily Natasha was quick enough to avoid the same fate. It was hot and disgusting but nothing compared to what he felt inside. Tony had been right about absolutely everything and he had… he had…fuck! He had put him in the hospital for it.

"Steve, hey…Shhh," she said, scooting closer again, around the stinky mess and rubbing his back they way he saw her sometimes do with Clint. He realized then that he was close to crying and she was trying to comfort him. He didn't deserve comfort ever again, not from anyone.

"You couldn't have known, he didn't want anyone to know and he never would have told you. He loves you, Steve. I think he's loved you for a very long time and that never changed despite your friendship with Howard. He chose to let you have your good memories of him instead. If he wasn't so upset about seeing you with Bennett that day I doubt he would have ever said anything like that."

He thought back to some of his and Tony's 'arguments' about Howard. They really were all pretty one sided, with Tony never really saying much, often a scoff at best, but just the fact that he didn't agree with Steve about how wonderful Howard was made the soldier angry and caused him to be disappointed in the son.

Could he seriously have been that wrong about _everything_…been that stupid and that blind? He felt lower and more worthless than ever. He didn't deserve Tony's forgiveness and he didn't deserve Tony's love…if he even still felt that for Steve.

"I have to see him, Natasha, and I need your help to do that. Clint is most likely there with him and Miss Potts left about the same time as Dr. Banner last night, so she may be checking on him as well." He was unworthy and undeserving, but Tony wasn't, he deserved an apology and Steve felt like it was so long overdue that waiting another few hours until daylight was too long. He just needed to clean himself up first.

"One last piece of advice, Steve, and then I'll help any way I can." She gave him a strong, candid look, and he acknowledged his agreement with an eyebrow, he would take any counsel she had to give. "His past made him who he is today, made him the man you've fallen in love with. And, yes, he's wealthy and handsome and incredibly smart, but loving him because of that isn't enough. Those are things everyone sees in him, and he knows it, he needs to know that you see past that. And he'll fight you on it, because that's all he sees as worthy about himself."

* * *

**A/N: **Seriously, thanks so much to everyone who left feedback of any kind, it is helpful and encouraging :)


	5. Chapter 5

Tony hadn't realized how tense he'd been until he entered his workshop and felt the anxiety slip from his frame like a heavy shroud. It felt good to be back, even if it was only a day…two days since he'd been here last.

"Welcome back Sir. I am aware that you cannot, or, rather should not speak just yet, and have taken the liberty to download, modify and install a virtual writer with touch screen interface hardware. It will work with the holographic programs. Should you prefer to type, however, that is certainly still an option."

One of the holographic screens over his workbench came to life, luminous and undulating as it awaited his touch. He could cry with how much he loved JARVIS in that moment, no questions, no judgments, no emotions, and no pity… just intelligence, pure and simple.

Tony reached out and touched the glowing screen, slowly moving his fingers in circles and watching the shapes form. This was an adapted version of the art program he'd been designing for Steve in case he ever wanted to hang out down here while Tony was working. Obviously that wasn't going to happen now and JARVIS could have mentioned that but chose not to in a telling show of where his AI's loyalty was. Not that there was ever really a question, Tony was his creator after all, but Steve seemed to inspire unwavering loyalty in just about everyone.

"I have also been reviewing footage of past interactions between us, Sir, and have compiled a database cataloguing certain repeated gestures as well as facial expressions and your intentions when you make them. There are many things I can infer, therefore, without you having to trouble yourself to say." There was definitely softness to JARVIS' tone, and were he not so overcome with gratitude at the moment he would marvel further at the sheer genius of his creation. Without realizing it he bowed his head and raised his hand slightly.

"Though I have always appreciated your flair for the dramatic Sir, the Lawrence Olivier impression was overdone, the head nod was sufficient to indicate 'thank you', but I assure you no thanks are needed."

Tony had to fight the smile he knew would hurt too much, but as it turns out, restraining a genuine smile was just as painful as succumbing to it. Once he had his facial muscles under control again he did take a moment to bask in the glow of his own brilliance. JARVIS could speculate, he could theorize, even improvise in certain situations because that was Tony Stark level genius at work.

That's what he needed to concentrate on. Fuck all the other shit…people and relationships—the human equation?—seriously, who came up with that term? There were far too many variables for people to be considered as pure as math. He would take real equations any day. Math he could do. Science he could do. And that's exactly what he_ would_ do for the next few weeks.

He would be alone again with Dum-E and JARVIS, personalities he had created, more or less, to suit his needs. He had made them to help, sure, but they had always been a source of comfort, a way to combat the loneliness and isolation as well. The bots that came along later were more helpful and less quirky than Dum-E, and he knew you only got one first time, one first try, one first love, but he was going back to the beginning anyways, back to Boston. Maybe he could start over there, do things better, do things right this time or clear his head at the fucking very least.

It was an inspiring thought and he needed that right now. He took a deep breath, swiped away the careless shapes on the screen and simply wrote _bots? _

"They are charged and ready to travel. Sir, Miss Potts is approaching."

He wasn't looking forward to this, but he knew it had to be done. He pulled a deep breath in through his nose and turned towards the door just in time to see her place her hand on the scanner. She was dressed casually in jeans and a sweater, but the fact that her hair was elaborate, that she had enough makeup on to cover her freckles, and that the earrings dangling from her ears cost more that some people's cars belied her attempt at informal attire. If he had to guess he would say she had changed out of her gown so it wouldn't serve as a reminder of where she'd been tonight and who she had most likely seen there, and not just for the sake of comfort. Pepper was just as relaxed in gala finery and six inch heels as she was in jeans and sandals.

"Tony…" She didn't look or sound as angry as he'd expected. Maybe this wasn't going to be as bad as he thought. "I can't believe you think its okay to just leave, to just walk out of a hospital. I'm used to it, I am, but…"

On second thought, maybe it was going to be exactly as he originally thought.

"…Okay, I know what you're thinking and lucky for you that Bruce, though grudgingly, agrees that with supervision and check-ins with a doctor you can recuperate away from S.H.E.I.L.D., but why can't you stay here with us? We'll keep him away from you; you don't have to worry about that."

She didn't need to clarify the "him".

He snorted derisively. He didn't care that it hurt and he didn't care if it even sounded like a snort to her, it was and that's all that mattered. He stepped to the hovering screen and began to scrawl… _I feel so stupid, Pep, and that's new for me. I really, really need to be away from here. Someplace where I'm around smart people, where I can forget exactly how stupid I've been, how inadequate he makes me feel. I want to go someplace where I can be useful and brilliant again. Please understand and accept that. Please._ Yeah, he was laying it on pretty thick, but he knew that she would see through any bullshit he tried with her, that he had to be absolutely honest, no matter how much of a pussy he sounded like. If he needed to beg for her approval, so be it. She wouldn't judge him for it, and he looked at her imploringly before he turned back to the screen to continue, deciding a little bribery couldn't hurt. _There are so, so many new pairs of shoes in it for you if you don't give me a hard time about this._

She laughed, thank god, and that little furrow that he hated to see between her brows disappeared. "No planes, no armor, not more than a few hours drive and not so remote that we can't find a highly reputable oral surgeon within a few miles. I want JARVIS there to monitor you and I will have updates from him multiple times a day, more if necessary."

"I shall monitor him constantly and provide scheduled updated as you wish, Miss Potts. And I believe Sir has chosen a location that meets your criteria." JARVIS replied smoothly.

If it wasn't for the fact that the person he was in love with didn't love him back and had put him in the hospital, he would feel pretty lucky right now. He pulled over a stool, as much to distract himself from those thoughts as to actually sit, because his head was starting to pound again.

"Thank you J. So where are you two heading off to?" She grinned, knowing how much Tony loved it that she treated JARVIS as a person.

"May I, Sir?" Tony nodded in answer and JARVIS continued, "MIT."

"That's actually perfect Tony." She smiled at him and it was beautiful. He cleared away the small lump of fondness in his throat and turned again to the screen, wiping away the weak words he had previously written and began again.

_You were right, all that stuff about open lines of communication… _He owed her at least that much.

"I'm always right, Tony, and your life would be a lot easier if you would just accept that." She gave him her patented one dimple smirk and cleared her own throat before adding, "Nothing with straps below the ankle. I went to Catholic school, and twenty years later I still can't wear anything that even remotely resembles a Mary Jane."

It was his turn to laugh, and Christ it hurt, but it was so worth it.

"Bruce and Clint are going with you, to help get you settled. Your plane will be at Logan to bring them back. Happy is driving and he's staying in Boston with you." She paused, letting him make whatever dramatic gesture she knew he couldn't resist. "And JARVIS and I will work on finding a suitable doctor, the confidentiality agreements, and getting you an appointment for Monday."

God, could she be any more perfect? He doubted it. It had been like thirty seconds—forty tops, since she even found out where he was going and she already had the lives of four people planned for the next few days. She was incredible.

"I'm so not used to having a conversation with you and hearing only the sound of my own voice. No arguments, no protests, it's not nearly as pleasant as I always imagined it would be." She turned her face away as she spoke, but he knew it was to hide a smile.

"Dr. Banner and Agent Barton are approaching in the elevator." Tony found it interesting that JARVIS had only given him a moments notice when Pepper was coming but at least a one minute warning when it was someone else. Huh, he would have to ask about that when he was alone with the AI again.

"Tony, if you need something, anything at all, please ask. I know how you are about asking for anything, but I'm begging you not to be like that while you're away. I really worry about you, and I can't do my job, which is running _your_ company by the way, if I'm worried about you." He nodded, ouch, spread his hands innocently and looked back up for her to continue…he knew she would fill as much of the minute as possible before the others came.

"Good. You saw him agree, right J?" Tony seriously loved the fact that Pepper called his AI 'J'.

"I most certainly did, Miss Potts." Tony flipped JARVIS the bird behind his back; he didn't love the fact that JARVIS kissed anyone else's ass but his.

"If I find out you've been hiding anything from me Happy will drag you back here and you will be in meetings from dawn until dusk, I don't care if you have to type every word. Right now I want you to give me an override code for J, only pertaining to anything that happens between now and you're return, that you can't override and that the three of us agree on." When he didn't make a move fast enough she said a little louder, "as in, _Right Now_." She gave him the raised eyebrow stare, daring him to argue.

He sighed dramatically and typed _yes, mom…o-07041918_ on the virtual keyboard below the holographic screen. He hoped she wouldn't recognize it as Steve's birth date, but it was all he could come up with because he was out of time and his head hurt. He could be clever and original with the next one.

"Tony…" Pepper said, frowning faintly, obviously spotting the significance of the code.

He was spared the rest of her pity filled speech by the arrival of Barton and Banner. His head was throbbing and his brain felt like it was swimming in mud. Usually he welcomed a slow down in brain function for a little while, most of the time it came at the cost of copious amounts of alcohol, or back in his crazy days, drugs, which were both fun and made the pulsing hangovers kind of worth it. This, though, there wasn't anything even remotely fun about this.

"Okay, the gang's all here. What's the plan, oh resident genius?" Clint said loudly, clapping his hands together. Whether or not it was intended to dispel the melancholy air in the room or not, it seemed to do the trick. Pepper glanced briefly at the code still displayed on the screen, then knowingly at Tony, indicating she had committed it to memory and he could erase it.

"Dr. Banner," Pepper said, turning to Bruce, but not before Tony saw the small furrow return. "Would you mind examining Tony, just make sure he really is okay to leave?" She was speaking to Bruce, but had turned back toward Tony, looking at him pointedly, challenging him to object.

She needn't have bothered; he knew better than to argue with her when she was like this, and the sooner she gave the all clear for him to go the sooner he could get the fuck out of Dodge.

As Bruce came towards him, Pepper motioned for Clint to follow her over towards the small sofa.

"Tony, I'm going to lift the bandages to see exactly what we're dealing with." Bruce said sympathetically. Tony knew it would hurt but it needed to be done. He braced himself mentally and steeled himself physically before giving a tiny nod to indicate he was ready. The doctor's hands worked quickly and gently, peeling back the strips of medical tape and turning his head to see the injuries in the best light possible. Through his one good eye Tony could see a brief flash of anger in his friend's eye, directed at Steve no doubt, and the engineer decided to let it pass without figuring out a way to defend the supersoldier. When he could speak comfortably again he would explain that it was his fault, not Steve's, but right now he wanted to get this over with so they could leave.

That thought made him realize that his throat was definitely sorer than he remembered from the first time he'd broken his jaw. That he couldn't mumble through his lips, clear his throat, or even swallow really without a fair amount of discomfort in the back of his throat. Maybe it was that Steve hit a hell of a lot harder than Howard and clearly more damage was done this time, or maybe it was that he was older and slower to heal, but he figured he would ask anyways.

He could write his question on the screen, but he and his teammate seemed to be on the same wavelength, at least they hadn't needed words earlier, so he tilted his head back and pointed to his throat, just above his Adam's apple.

Bruce took a harsh breath and the anger was back in his eyes.

_Fuck! He should have kept his thoughts to himself._

"Apparently this isn't your first fractured mandible." Bruce said it quickly, matter-of-factly, meeting his eye with less judgment than if he'd known the truth of the first time. Tony breathed a telling sigh of relief before he realized it, and tried to cover it with a look of exaggerated question so Bruce wouldn't read too much into it. He didn't expect it to work, same wavelength and all, but thankfully the doctor let it go. "We'll discuss that another time, but the plate they used back then was broken and a piece lodged in the soft pallet. You escaped any vascular damage, just a laceration they were able to close, but it'll be sore for a week or so. The soft tissue in the mouth heals quickly, but don't overdue it with trying to speak too quickly."

_Great, one more wound to add to the list._

The exam was over quickly, thank god, and as Bruce stepped away from him, he saw Clint and Pepper rise from the sofa, their conspiratorial discussion apparently finished, and Clint, as usual, broke the awkward silence that had fallen in the lab. "I figure we have about two hours until the benefit ends. Fury wanted everyone but Banner to stay until the end, so we know it'll be late and they'll most likely just go to bed when they get back here." Clint had purposefully avoided mentioning Steve's name and Tony wasn't sure if he should be grateful for that or not. Again, in a manner so unlike him, he just let it go. It would take too much work, too much painful brain activity and too much time to set them all straight about Cap right now.

"How does he look, Doctor?" Pepper asked in a falsely cheerful voice. Even in his concussed state he saw it as an attempt to have her say alone with Bruce now, her 'divide and conquer' tactic, trying to ensure the others were all on the same page she was. Clint and Bruce were the unknowns in her plan; Happy would follow her blindly into a fire if she asked. It was frustrating, being treated like a child, but having good decisions made for him right now by someone he trusted implicitly was oddly comforting and therefore worth the aggravation.

"The wounds look just like they should after two days, starting to heal with no outward trace of infection. His throat is sore, and that's to be expected, he needs to rest it, and I'll do my best to make sure he does. He'll be ready for a dose of antibiotics and pain meds before he leaves, so hopefully he'll rest on the way. Has he told you where he's going?" It was Bruce's turn to be led by Pepper to the couch while Clint was left to either distract or entertain Tony, depending on whose side you were looking at it from.

"Boston. MIT specifically, he has a building there for his scholarship kids. Will you go with him, spend a day or two making sure he's settled and has everything he needs to recuperate?" She didn't wait for an answer before adding, "I will get him an appointment at a qualified maxillofacial surgeon on Monday, but until then I'd like you to be there for him." There was no way he could say no to the earnest worry on her face and in her tone. He didn't like the idea of keeping this a secret from Steve and Natasha, but he understood the reason for it. He knew Steve well enough to realize the soldier was suffering from guilt, and he'd looked pretty uncomfortable with that woman earlier, but he was willing to concede that if Tony wasn't ready to see Steve than he shouldn't have to face him just yet.

"Yeah, I'll stay with him until he meets with a doctor." That was the easy part. He scrubbed a hand over his face and down his neck to pull at the bowtie that suddenly felt constricting. "Steve is going to be more than mad when he finds out we helped Tony leave without telling the team." He was well aware that he was stating the obvious, she was a very sharp woman, but he needed to say it, needed it out there for her to consider.

"I figured as much, but that's not my concern right now. I know Steve's upset, I spoke with him yesterday after Tony woke up. I know he feels guilty, and rightfully so. I also know that even though he_ is_ guilty of many things, I don't think intentional callousness is one of them. I'm sure there is a misunderstanding between them, but that aside, he did hurt the one person I care most about in this world and if that person feels the need to be away to recover emotionally then so be it." Pepper Potts was definitely a force to be reckoned with and he could easily see why Tony had made her CEO of his company.

"I do agree with you," Bruce said with a deep intensity, because even though he liked Steve, he was sure a confrontation between the two would not help Tony at all, especially because he couldn't speak. Putting it off might ease a little of the hurt he'd heard through Tony's comm. and a little of the anger from Steve that had brought them together like this in the first place.

"Good, that's settled then. Tony, I'm calling Happy now," She said walking towards him while pulling out her phone. "He can help pack DUM-E, how much time do you need?" He'd be damned if he let Happy touch his bot, but she didn't need to know that.

"_Six hours, give or take…" _He typed; looking to Clint to make sure the time frame was okay with him. It wasn't really enough time unless he did let the others help with the bots, but he needed to be gone before Captain Early Morning Run was up and about. That would mean they left around 5:00 am and traffic would be very light on a…whatever day tomorrow was. Happy was driving, so that meant the full five hours, maybe more, to Boston. Happy might break a few traffic laws here and there but unless they were being followed he refused to exceed the speed limit by more than 5MPH. It had frustrated Tony to no end on the countless occasions he'd had a gorgeous girl giggling and ready in the back of the limo and Tony had begged him to hurry to their destination, only to see a smirk on his driver's face as the privacy screen was raised and the tortuously slow pace continued. Granted, he'd gotten some fairly amazing blowjobs thanks to Happy's ridiculous ethics, but…_okay, getting off track here, Focus!_

When Pepper ended the call she came over and put both hands gently on either side of his face and leaned her forehead in to rest against the un-bandaged side of his. "Remember what I said about asking for help." She whispered, pulling away slightly and placing her lips softly against the spot where her forehead had just been. "I'll be out later in the week, but I expect to hear from you as well as J." She pulled him into a soft hug before stepping away and saying good bye to his two teammates, but just as she reached the door she looked back at him over her shoulder, "I wear a size eight and in addition to the classics, Prada's fall line is out. I'm thinking boots." She winked and exited the lab.

"That woman is amazing Tony." Clint said, looking a bit awed. Tony could certainly sympathize; he was continually staggered by her. But enough already with the sympathy hour, it was exhausting and starting to get boring, and he had work to do if they planned to leave before the sun came up.

What he really wanted to do was ask J if Steve had returned to the tower, but as much as he wanted to ask, he didn't really want to know. He figured the answer would be no, that Steve was with that woman and just thinking it was hurtful enough, he didn't need the truth spelled out for him. He'd just taken his meds and his head was actually feeling all right, why open himself up to a wound no medicine could help?

Regardless, he didn't have the chance. Bruce and Clint stayed with him constantly and the three worked through the rest of the night.

Finally the borrowed Stark Industries SUV was loaded and they were underway at last, pulling a bulky trailer containing the robots, because Dum-E was almost as recognizable as he was, well, not really, but he'd shared more than a few magazine covers and news articles with his creator. It was actually a horse trailer, which seemed odd until Bruce explained that renting one would leave a paper trail and Pepper had secured this one paper free. And anyone who was looking for them would be much less likely to suspect a horse trailer as a U-Haul. Clint had urged him to only bring one of his bots, and he almost gave in, but the pathetic "whining" that came from the charging stations as he worked on getting JARVIS ready was too much for even Clint to take. "Nice, Stark, you gave them the ability to be pathetic enough to get what they want, like creepy metal puppies." It was said facetiously, all in the spirit of good fun, and pure Barton.

Happy was driving, too slowly for Tony's taste on the nearly deserted highway, and Bruce occupied the other front seat, leaving him in the back with Clint. They bantered back and forth, mostly using the tablet, but after the first hour he leaned his head back against the plush seat and closed his eye. He wasn't sure if he would be able to sleep or not, but he needed a little time to himself.

He was excited about returning to his Alma mater for more than just a presentation or a commencement address. An extended stay would be nice and his brain wouldn't stagnate for lack of things to do. Christ he couldn't remember when he'd last had so much time just for science. Sure he worked in his lab everyday, sometimes continuously for multiple days if he was in the zone, but there was always other stuff—meetings, paperwork, battles, a tower full of superheroes, and Fury breathing down his goddamned neck.

There wouldn't be anyone, no Pepper or Clint (after two days) or Steve, to drag him away from a project. Well, JARVIS would rat him out to Pep if it was one of those all-science-no-food type benders, but he'd been working around that for years. The thought about Steve in his lab, though, brought with it a flood of memories, like that first time when the supersoldier had kissed him, so incredibly unexpected but so, so awesome nonetheless. Tony remembered only the slightest hesitation from the soldier, and then the mind blowing kiss. He knew Steve didn't have a lot of experience, but that kiss wasn't an example of something he'd learned, a trick someone had taught him, that was Steve doing something he wanted to do, kissing with his entire self and holding nothing back. No compartmentalizing or strategizing, just instinct. That kiss was in Steve's very nature, an outstanding example of one more thing he excelled at.

Obviously Cap had been overcome, a guy from the forties didn't just kiss another guy without some kind of hint that it would be welcome, but he had. And though Tony had been nursing a crush on the man since puberty, he was certain he'd given no indication of that to the star spangled man with a plan.

Hell, he'd realized he was bisexual when he was fourteen, jerking off to a picture in one of his dad's Playboy's when he'd caught sight of his Captain America poster while reaching for the lotion. He'd stared at that tight uniform, the curve of that ass and come hard while imagining those big hands all over his body, the blond centerfold in the magazine completely forgotten. He'd been embarrassed about it for days afterward and refused to give into the urge again, but he'd never looked at that poster the same way again.

It had been his secret until his second year at MIT when a big, blond football player from Boston College had hit on him at a party. He didn't care to relive that memory, what little he had of it; he'd been wasted out of his mind, they'd both been too high and too horny to care about adequate prep and it had been very unpleasant. He'd been with men since then, more than a few, but never again as a bottom until Cap. Steve was the only one he had trusted since, decades later and the difference in the experiences was nothing shy of a quantum leap.

It had taken them a long time to get to that point because Tony refused to rush things. It had only been a few days since that stellar first kiss when Steve had come down to his lab again, looking unsure but kissing him again anyways. Tony wasn't about to stop the kissing, but Cap had started getting a bit handsy, and though it had been the fuel for more than one jerk off session, this was real life and he did not want to scare Steve away by moving too fast. The soldier had been confused and a little frustrated by Tony's reluctance the next few times they'd been together but it was important for Steve to be comfortable and he remembered how hard it had been to turn down the man's continued attempts to move things along.

_Tony knew he had to take this slow, very slow, slower than his spoiled rich kid instant gratification obsessed personality had ever taken anything of this nature. Sure, he was capable of being careful, meticulous even when it came to all things math, but even then it wasn't particularly slow, his mind whirred through the calculations in a blur of brilliance. This thing with Steve, though, wasn't an equation with a simple solution (not that he was implying the equations involved in his work were simple, usually it was some downright daunting, not for the faint of heart, not many people on the planet could solve it math, thank you very much). Okay, back on track, though the thought of Steve and math together was starting to steal the blood from his brain and move it to other places, well, just one other place, really._

_Christ._

_Anyways, this was all new to Steve, and not just the whole man on man thing…Steve was new to all aspects of sex, as in the farthest he had ever gone, at least with another person, was their heated make out sessions with some light, innocent petting. It was obvious that Steve wanted more, and Tony definitely wanted to be the one to give that to him, but not by rushing it. He wanted to savor every touch, share every new sensation with Steve, catalogue every gasp and moan and he wanted it to be perfect for Steve._

_ Tony could barely remember his first time. He'd been a young, drunk, and ridiculously horny teenager surrounded by classmates years older than himself. The only special thing about it was that he'd lost his V card; he didn't even remember her name. Steve was too good for that, and obviously he'd waited for a reason. Tony knew how Steve looked pre serum, and okay it was the forties, so people had a bit more restraint than nowadays, but after the serum, looking like that and with all those USO girls, and soldiers too (hey, it may have been a repressed time, but that didn't mean there weren't still homosexuals), who had to be throwing themselves at him, Steve had still waited. And, yeah, he knew what Cap had been waiting for was Peggy Carter, but the point is that Steve wanted it to be special too, at least back then._

_ Too many things had changed for Steve, and he was handling it well, but Tony knew that deep down Cap's outdated ideals were staunchly rooted in the 1940's, and, though he considered himself a futurist, he was surprisingly willing to work with that. So, Steve may want to rush things and finally experience everything right away, but in an unprecedented turn of events, Tony was going to take this slow and make it as wonderful and memorable for Steve as he could. _

_ That being said, in his usual and overly verbose way, it was anything but easy trying to keep his own libido, never mind Steve's more than healthy, serum enhanced and much younger one, in check. His only other meaningful and more than a week or two relationship had been with Pepper and they had known each other for so long before the actual dating thing. He had no clue, absolutely no fucking idea__ how to begin a romantic relationship where the outcome he wanted was so much more than just great sex. He had no choice but to figure it out because he would not fuck this up. He would make sure Steve knew exactly what was happening every step of the way, and not through a lust filled haze led by his body and not his mind. He wanted all of Steve and he wanted him forever, and regardless of whether Steve wanted that as well, Tony would not let his adolescent fantasies get the better of him and let him ruin this. _

_ If that meant, on occasion, that he had to tear himself away from the __warm abyss of Steve's eager mouth, stop their tongues ravishing in a tango of slippery heat, and halt the large and insanely warm hands wandering to his hips, slipping under them hem of his shirt, then he would. He would stop himself._

_Jesus Christ, he was going to have to rub one off because he was thinking about _not_ having sex with Steve…what the fuck?_

Yeah, those first few months were hard, but not nearly as difficult as he expected the next few to be. He had more thoughts and memories like that as the seemingly endless drive continued, but he must have dozed off at some point because the next thing he knew he was looking out his window at the Charles River and the small but welcome reflection of the Boston skyline.

* * *

**A/N:** Thanks again to everyone who has made it this far and plans to continue, and especially to everyone who has taken a minute or two to let me know what you think, I really can't thank you enough :)


	6. Chapter 6

Although Steve had felt an almost immediate, pressing need to see Tony, to apologize for…well, many things, everything actually, once he was under the chilly spray of the shower a few things occurred to him. He barely registered the cold, a possible first for him, because there were so many other things to think about. Things he needed to get right in his head so he didn't come across as a total idiot or, even worse, insincere, before he barged into Tony room and started spouting apologies and explanations. Tony was very articulate when he wanted to be, and though Steve knew he was incapable of achieving the same level of eloquence, it was important that Tony see how earnest and repentant he was. First and foremost was what he would say about Howard after "I'm so sorry I hurt you and misjudged both of you so badly."

He still couldn't fathom what he'd learned about his old friend and his relationship with his only son. That the person he had known, had defended on more than one occasion, could be guilty of abuse like that. It wasn't that he didn't believe it, he most certainly did, and it made him feel unclean by association, it was just difficult trying to insert the knowledge into his memories of the man.

And sure, back in his day it was not uncommon to see a child or even a woman with a black eye or a slap reddened face at the hands of the "man of the house". Many people, even some he knew, had turned a blind eye to that kind of thing, but Steve had know even back then that those kinds of men were bullies. It wasn't easy to place Howard, or himself, among men like that.

He knew from experience that Tony wouldn't want to talk about Howard, that he would clam up or shut down or whatever the current term was, and did Steve even want to upset him by bringing it up? Could he just give a heartfelt but blanket apology, begging forgiveness for practically every word he'd ever uttered to the renowned industrialist and wait until Tony was better or at least away from the medical bay before mentioning his father? And to the best of Steve's knowledge, Tony wasn't aware anyone even knew how he'd broken his jaw the first time. Natasha had said that information was buried very deep. Would he suspect they'd try and figure it out? The answer seemed to be that he should wait to broach the subject of the elder Stark and just work on apologizing for the other atrocities he had committed, like using Tony, taking him for granted, hurting him, emotionally and physically, and failing to know himself well enough to understand that he'd had what he wanted all along.

And now that he was being honest with himself about his feelings for Tony, the second and much more uncomfortable thing that occurred to him was what if he'd been attracted to Howard? It wasn't something that had even occurred to him at the time; it was only through hindsight that he could question it at all. His attraction to Peggy had certainly overshadowed everything else back then or maybe his mind just instantly repressed thoughts like that about another man. Like Natasha had said earlier, he was conditioned to repress those feelings since before he was old enough to even realize it.

Whatever the reason, it wasn't until he'd woken up in this century and realized he was attracted to men, to Tony that he started to remember little things about Howard. How Steve had been slightly dazzled by him at the Expo the first time he'd laid eyes on him, but did that mean anything, hadn't everyone there been equally as dazzled? Or the warm, reassuring feeling he'd had when he realized Howard was part of the supersoldier experiment, he'd assumed it was comfort at one more familiar face in the sea of strangers, but what if that warm feeling had been more than familiarity? The worst of it though, was how that warm feeling had spread and intensified when he'd come out of the machine, head fuzzy, only to be helped by Howard and Dr. Erskine. Both men had put their hands on him, and his skin had tingled under their touch. He'd always chalked that up to the immediate effects of the serum, but could that feeling have been something else, a refugee from the repression?

He was very grateful that he didn't have these thoughts back then, that all of his conscious romantic thoughts seemed to have been about Peggy, not that he would have acted on it even if he had been aware of something. It had been a confusing time, imagining and worrying about what would happen to him in the capsule and it had taken a long time to sort out all of the individual sensations and feelings from that day. And anything about Howard was at the bottom of the pile of anticipation, wonder, pain, sadness and then his body taking over, knowing what to do to run down a madman. It was no wonder he hadn't picked up on that fleeting tingle right away. He was just being ridiculous, he could name every girl he had been attracted to over the course of his life, and he recognized the signs in himself no matter the gender. There were so many real things to beat himself over, why the heck was he inventing more? He was certain that his feelings for Howard had only ever been fraternal.

He had to stay under the brisk stream for and extra few minutes as he rewashed himself, feeling dirty and contaminated from those thoughts alone.

The third and most unpleasant thought that occurred to him was that Tony's taunt about Howard, the one that had him seeing red and causing his control to snap so viciously, meant that maybe Tony suspected some attraction or maybe even something more untoward between him and Howard, _Christ, the two of you deserve each other…maybe you should have been fucking him…_if he hadn't hit Tony, would those have been his next words? He certainly used to talk about his admiration for Howard a lot, even knowing it bothered Tony…oh God, Tony had been equating him with Howard even before he hit him.

He needed to check himself into an institution for the criminally stupid.

How would he ever be able to look Tony in the eyes again?

He never imagined anything could make him feel more insignificant than a 4F, or five of them. He'd wanted to help his country so badly, wanted to do anything to help with the war effort. He couldn't imagine what he could possibly do if he didn't become a soldier, what worth his life would have, and everyone acted like they were doing him a favor by rejecting him, saving his life when all he'd wanted to do was give it to his country. Right now, though, he felt a hell of a lot lower than that.

Whenever he looked in the mirror, back then, during his struggle for enlistment, he saw someone who was too scrawny, too short and too sickly. But at least he also saw a person who was trying to do the right thing, a person who was good…just not good enough.

Now he wasn't small or sickly, but he wasn't good either. No one could do what he'd done and call themselves that. He was scum. No, he was something much lower than scum, even though he didn't know what that could be; he could ask Bruce for the biology of it, but it really didn't matter.

By the time he finally stepped out of the shower he felt worthless and more unsure of everything than he ever had in his life. He wasn't even worthy of Tony's forgiveness. He did have to try though. The one thing he did know was that Tony was worth the effort to try. He repeated that thought to himself as a sort of mantra as he dressed.

With the small sense of conviction that came with that thought he picked up the mess on the floor that was his tuxedo. There were stains on the shirt and pants from getting sick, the jacket had been the sole survivor because he had taken it off before attacking the bag. One at a time he removed Tony's studs from the front of the shirt and fished the cufflinks out of the pant's pocket where he'd put them so he could roll the shirtsleeves. He didn't know if water was enough to clean any would be vomit off the gems, but he brought them into the bathroom and ran them carefully under the sink anyways. After drying them gently with a soft towel he gathered them and headed for Tony's room to put them back. He felt the need to use the utmost care with anything concerning Tony.

The room was exactly as it had been last night; no surprise there, Tony was still at medical, but the feeling of it not being right is what felt eerily similar. The unsettling effect was much worse on this side of his recent discoveries about his feelings, and again his eyes were drawn to the bed, the stained and rumpled sheets…

"_Steve…" Tony's voice was low and rough, gravelly and filled with desire. The effect it had on him was dizzying, that he could bring this proud and brilliant man to such a state while doing nothing more than succumb to the pleasure. Tony was kissing and licking Steve's stomach, a ravishing trail of warm sinful lips, a deliciously hot and wet tongue, and the prickling thrill of facial hair that had started at his neck and was moving down his body. He knew where the final destination of that skilled mouth would be, and the anticipation of it was almost painful._

_Good Lord Tony made him feel amazing. He looked down at the shock of dark messy hair as it slid lower and Steve couldn't stop himself from reaching out to touch it, wrap his fingers in the waves and revel in the feel. Tony's brown eyes snapped up to meet his, devastating in their fervor and glinting slightly with…mischief?_

_Just as the sought after word entered his mind he nearly jumped out of his skin as the meaning became clear. Tony's chin rested briefly, and very lightly on his erection, just below the head, the goatee scratching the sensitive skin as his tongue came out to capture the glossy bead of moisture forming at the slit, and then he moved. The itchy burning feeling of the beard followed by the incredible soothing heat of that tongue down his entire length was nearly too much. He threw his head back, breaking the intense gaze and moaned long and loud. The sound the soldier made pulled a similar one from Tony and Steve couldn't stop the series of breathy gasps that followed as the exquisite torture continued. Tony was relentless in his zeal, licking his way back up and then engulfing him whole. Another shamefully loud moan escaped as Tony worked him to completion in a scandalously short amount of time._

_As he struggled to catch his breath after the earth shattering orgasm, Tony moved back up his body, dragging the rough stubble on the return path. Steve had expected to see something like smugness on the billionaire, but instead his face had the look of an unformed question. _

He wanted to shake the memory away, but instead he neared the bed and sat down. Tony's scent mixed with the evaporating smell of sex was enthralling, and Steve breathed deeply, pulling it in and willing it to never fade. At the time, a few days ago, he hadn't delved deeper into the look on the engineer's face, hadn't asked Tony or even given it more than a fleeting thought himself. Now, though, in retrospect, it seemed important, and if he really thought about it, selfish of him not to even inquire.

He had always acted selfishly when it came to this thing with Tony. He took and took and never really gave, something he was distantly aware of even at the time. Never once had he taken Tony in his mouth, despite knowing how good it felt, and worse yet, he had always been on top because it was…less immodest or more manly? That thought seemed completely ludicrous now, but no matter how much he wanted to deny it had been his reasoning for months, he couldn't.

So, here he was, in the same place he had so recently had everything…had that mouth so dangerous and thrilling in its passion, lips swollen and wanting more, but also smiling that secret smile reserved only for him. Tony smiled a lot, but not like that, not that he'd witnessed, that particular marvel was for him alone. The fluttering was back in his chest, but last night when he'd felt it he had taken it for nerves because he was an idiot. It was perfectly clear to him now what it was.

As he reached for Tony's pillow, thrown carelessly to the side after their steamy encounter, he realized the cufflinks and studs were still in his hand. He grabbed the pillow and brought it to his face with the other hand, inhaling deeply, pulling in all he could. What wouldn't he give to have the owner of that delicious scent here with him now? But he had a lot of work to do before that was possible, if it was possible. And if it wasn't then Tony deserved better anyways, but the belief that he had to try was back in full force. Tony believed Steve didn't love him, and who could blame him? But he needed to know the truth, that he was loved and appreciated, even if it was by someone so much stupider that him. He deserved the knowledge that he hadn't done anything wrong, that the entire fault lay with Steve.

He stood, blinking back the nagging heated itch behind his eyelids, and headed to the box on the dresser he had taken the jewels from last night. He placed them back exactly as he'd found them and closed the lid, noticing two much smaller, identical boxes beside it. It only took a moment for him to decide to look.

The first box contained a set of cufflinks, bigger than the ones he'd borrowed, nearly the size of a quarter. That wasn't the only difference though, these were a mismatched set. They both had a three millimeter wide silver ring around the edge and some kind of enamel set into it, but one was blue with a white star in the center exactly like his shield and the other the same blue but with the circle shaped replica of Tony's old arc reactor a brighter blue in the middle.

The second box contained exactly the same thing. Obviously Tony had separated the pairs to make the two mismatched sets, and he had to assume that one of the sets was for him, and that Tony had planned on giving it to him, maybe even for the benefit. Was that the purpose of the shirt he needed Natasha's help to figure out? Last night he thought maybe Tony had done it as a joke, but could it have been a way to get him here and give him the cufflinks?

He picked up one of the arc reactor cufflinks and turned it over in his hand. It was weightier than he expected and even he could tell that it was very well made. He ran his finger over the smooth front, wondering if he should even be allowed to touch it after the fiasco he had made of their relationship when his thoughts were interrupted. First by a distinct whirring sound he would recognize anywhere, and second by the brusque British tone of JARVIS.

"Returning the cufflink to the box would be advisable, Captain Rogers."

He did as he was told, looking around the room for any sign of the metal suit, and couldn't help asking, "Is that the Iron Man armor charging up?"

"Yes," was the only reply. Was it possible…could the other cufflink somehow call his shield? He was torn between asking and simply picking it up and finding out for himself, but his manners won out in the end.

"Does the other one call my shield?" He couldn't keep the sound of amazement out of his voice, because if it did, if this was one more way for Tony to assure their safety, then it was nothing short of amazing.

Again with the terse, though slightly more hesitant reply, "yes."

"JARVIS, I understand that you're not happy with me right now, and I accept that willingly, I do, because I deserve it. I_ am_ going to apologize to Tony today, to literally beg for his forgiveness, but I would like to say the words to_ him_ first." Steve contemplated saying more, but was unsure how much more, and finally settled on the very simple truth, "I will never consciously hurt him again, you have my word. You must have heard the conversation I had with Nat—Agent Romanoff."

His admission was met with silence, but maybe JARVIS would still answer a direct question when asked. "Is there more you can tell me about the cufflinks?"

The seconds crept by while he awaited a response, and just when it seemed none would come, that the obvious answer was no, JARVIS finally spoke.

"I am not aware of the conversation you're referring to. I was offline for a short time, my systems were…upgrading." There was even more hesitance this time, but before he could think too much about it, the supercomputer continued coolly, "The cufflinks are equipped with multimodal biometric access, coded to yours and sir's fingerprints, voice and a pass-code. One identifier is needed for activation and another for acquisition. The versions of the armor and shield they activate and 'call' are slightly smaller and more portable—Sir refers to them as 'travel sized'—the range so far is only four miles. They also contain locator beacons, activated by turning the outer edge. Sir finds it…plebeian to have to run for his suit in the event of an emergency."

Steve had to stifle a chuckle at JARVIS' dry tone. "Thank you, JARVIS. And these…these are remarkable." Leave it to Tony to come up with something like this, to provide extra protection when they were out at functions or press conferences. They usually kept their uniforms and weapons close by, but now…

"Sir is working on a pair for Col. Rhodes as well." The AI's tone wasn't impolite polite, but it had an unmistakable edge of defiance, as if he wanted Steve to know he wasn't the only person Tony cared about protecting.

He was well aware of the relationship Tony shared with the Colonel; they were the best of friends and had been since their days at MIT, never anything more, nothing like what he had—used to have—wanted to have, with Tony. So why, then, did he feel the sudden stab of jealously? He'd seen them together and never felt that before, never felt the need to know either of their innermost thoughts about the other, if there were remnants of an old attraction buried under the guise of their friendship.

He hadn't felt it often, but jealousy wasn't a new emotion to him either. He had been a little jealous of Bucky back in the day, his way with women and his bigger, healthier body. He supposed that was more envy than jealousy, but on the plane with Howard and Peggy, when he'd thought fondue meant…well, something else, he'd been jealous then, and it was _definitely _because his intentions were for Peggy, not Howard. But that was nothing like this awful feeling though, this was Shakespeare style Othello jealousy, the kind that got a person into trouble, made them do stupid things, and he didn't like it one bit.

He closed his eyes, taking deep, calming breaths and counted to ten. This was ridiculous. If something had happened between the two of them it was long over, they were just friends now, like Tony and Pepper.

And that thought was a hell of a lot less reassuring then he'd meant for it to be.

Control. He needed to get himself under control, and then figure out why he could lose it so easily when it came to Tony. First things first, make it right with Tony, apologize and go from there. This newfound reaction to Col. Rhodes was most likely because Steve had so recently realized he was in love with Tony. It was just a byproduct, just him feeling over protective and slightly needy because he was on very shaky ground. Was this what Tony felt when he'd rounded the corner and seen Steve kissing Claire? He thought for second what it would feel like to see Tony kissing…well, anyone else really, and without even a distinct image in his mind he felt the bolt of hurt grip his chest.

God, he had so much to atone for.

"Sir and Col. Rhodes share a very close bond." JARVIS fed into his thoughts, quite unapologetically. Was the AI trying to make him feel worse? He had no doubt that the answer was yes.

_Don't take the bait. He's angry with you, trying to rile you up, _is what he was thinking, but not what he actually gave voice to_._

"I know that." He bit out, unable to keep the knife edge from his tone. He was falling apart or cracking up…becoming someone he didn't recognize anymore, angry and violent and jealous. He couldn't stop himself from turning to look in Tony's large mirror not likingthe person looking back at him. Gone was the sturdy, dependable Captain America. In his place was this mess of a man, no long quite Steve Rogers, but a poor, cracked clay imitation struggling to do justice to the original.

He was in uncharted waters here, bobbing about directionless like a cork upon the waves, trying to stay above the hostile current of confusion and doubt below, every emotion unsettled and churning and very at risk of being sucked into the vortex, caught in the undertow and he grabbed hold of the one truth he knew, the one emotion he was sure of—he was in love with Tony. That was the only thing that mattered…everything else was secondary right now, he had to focus on Tony.

He gave the cufflinks one last look and closed the box, making a mental note to ask Tony about them later. He definitely wanted to test them, see this "travel sized" version of the shield JARVIS had mentioned, but not today. Tony had obviously been waiting for a reason and as anxious and excited to try them out as he was, he would respect the inventor's wishes and wait as well. Besides, there was someplace he really needed to be…med bay.

"JARVIS, is Agent Romanoff in the communal area?" He didn't really need an answer, he had to pass through there anyways, but he was hoping to leave things with the AI on a better note.

"She is, Captain Rogers." The tone was still frosty, but Steve would swear it was a little less so than at any other time recently. There was also the very good chance that it was wishful thinking.

"Thank you." There was no reason to not be polite. He glanced to the bed one last time before leaving the room and heading out to meet Natasha.

The ride to headquarters was quiet and mostly uneventful. Natasha was driving, and that meant jaywalkers beware on a good day, but today she seemed slightly distracted and a little heavy handed with the horn when any pedestrian even looked at the crosswalk. They made the normally twenty minute trek in just over twelve, and the spy radiated smugness as they pulled into the underground garage. Steve just shook his head; she drove like she fought, unrelenting and unsympathetic, whether you wanted to take over the world or cross the street without waiting for the walk signal.

Though he was in a hurry, she stopped him with a hand to his arm. "I think I should go in first." She didn't need to add more, he knew it was the best plan, for her to assess the situation since he was the hostile here, in the rest of their minds anyways.

"Agreed." What more could he say—please hurry seemed redundant and unnecessary. "I'll wait here for your call; the waiting room in the hospital wing might not be empty." He added, though he was sure he didn't need to. He was jittery and so nervous, even worse than Captain America's first stage performance and that had been something else. He leaned against the outside of the SUV, trying for casual, but clearly not fooling her.

He was anxious to do what had been on his mind for hours now and hopefully he wouldn't have to see Clint, or Pepper or Col. Rhodes. Just like with JARVIS, he wanted them to know how sorry he really was, but it felt important to say the words to Tony first. He would face them if left with no other choice, he just didn't particularly want to.

He was spared all of the above by Natasha's return what seemed like moments later. The look on her face was inscrutable, not uncommon for the assassin, but he just couldn't help the feeling of dread looking at it.

"He's not here," she said simply. He waited a second for her to explain.

When she didn't, he blurted, "They moved him?" Even as he said it he knew it was wrong. Tony had left on his own, had gone somewhere else, somewhere away from Steve. Deep down, based on what he knew of the man, it really wasn't surprising…but Christ in heaven it hurt.

Unable to stop himself, he slid down the side of the vehicle until he was sitting on the cold concrete of the garage floor. His mind should be chaos in the wake of this turn of events—was anyone with him…where did he go…had he left while they were all out last night…was he even okay? These questions and more were swirling so fast in his head, but in the epicenter of the turmoil was the truth, unmoving and inerasable, Tony had left his home, his friends and his team because he didn't want to be near Steve. The sting behind his eyelids was back for the third time in the past few hours, but he didn't fight it this time, he gave himself over to the tears.

Natasha had been hesitant about leaving him like that, but he'd pulled out his command tone, or as close as he could while chocking back sobs, and she relented after a long, hard look into his eyes. She saw that he needed to be alone, that he would have his meltdown and then seek her out when he was ready to talk. She hadn't told him that Clint and Dr. Banner were currently unaccounted for either, but that detail wasn't anything to him right now when compared to the loss of Stark after Steve's so recent revelation.

The odd thing was, even though she felt sorry for Steve, had been with him throughout most of his self discovery over the past few days, she couldn't really blame Stark for leaving. And God she wanted to, wanted to blame him for having to leave their Captain so grief stricken, huddled on the garage floor. Steve was hurting, yes, but Tony was hurting just as badly, if not more. In the harsh light of truth, Stark hadn't really done anything wrong and Steve only had himself to blame. Admitting that, even to herself was hard, and she was going to kill Barton for leaving without telling her. She could have delayed them, kept them all here until Steve had gone to see Tony; it had probably been a matter of a few hours at most. Fuck!

When he finally pushed himself up from the floor it was more than an hour later. He was cold from the floor, he hated to be cold, and still wasn't used to it despite the frigid showers courtesy of the resident AI, and he was very tired. He hadn't slept or eaten in…a day maybe, it was hard to even remember things like that anymore, but his body was screaming at him to rectify the neglect. He could usually go longer without feeling the effects but he supposed the emotional wreck he'd been recently was as draining as physical activity. He should eat, shower—okay, no shower—and find Natasha, but all he wanted to do was crawl under the covers and sleep. He didn't want to think, thinking led to…more crying, actually. His mom had always said some times you just needed a good cry, and until recently he'd never seen the wisdom in that…but he should have known better, his mother was a very competent woman.

It was hours lying there before sleep finally took him. He'd thought about Schmidt's plane, about how when he'd committed to his sacrifice in his mind he'd known he'd be hurting the people he left behind. There weren't many it would affect personally, but for that handful he knew it would be hard. He knew they would have to live on without him, and they did. But this wasn't like that; there was nothing noble about the way he had handled himself, and Tony choosing—probably rightfully so—to live without him hurt so damn much he couldn't stand it. The fact that Tony thought it was Steve's choice to be without _him_ made it even worse. Forgetting the physical stuff, something he would have a hard time doing, they were good friends too, a friendship that had not been easy in forging.

Would he have to wake up tomorrow and start all over yet again? He wasn't sure he could do it, wasn't sure he could deal with the heartache and despair while trying to get through just a day. There were so many people counting on him now that it seemed wrong to just give up, even for a little while. And this really wasn't that different from Tony not wanting him in the hospital room, he'd been about to defy that particular wish and sneak in to apologize anyways. He realized then that he needed to hear Tony actually say the words if he didn't love Steve, that speculation would never solve anything, but if Tony could look him in the eye and say he didn't love Steve then he would leave it at that…but he _needed _to hear it before he could let it effect decisions about himself and the team.

That thought, and the decision to find Tony starting tomorrow is what finally calmed him enough to get some rest.

* * *

The next day was challenging. It started with another cold shower, but he refused to say anything. Then he combed the internet for anything new about Tony, any sightings or gossip. He hated the unfounded assumptions made about anyone, but Tony seemed a particular draw for the media, and there were so many incorrect beliefs about him. Steve didn't need reminding that he had once subscribed to those same false presumptions, and adding hypocrite to the list of faults against Tony was tantamount to one grain of sand on a beach. Right now he would settle for anything though, any hint about where the man could be no matter what the source.

His search proved fruitless, as did asking JARVIS. He wasn't stupid; at least when it came to most things other than genius billionaires, so he knew the absence of Dr. Banner and Clint had to be related to Tony. They would be missed by S.H.I.E.L.D. though. Maybe not Tony, especially while injured, but he left for meetings and mergers all the time and Steve wouldn't put it past Miss Potts to have made up a cover story for Tony's disappearance. This felt different, like Tony planned to be away for a while, and the fact that he'd taken his robots with him was a very telling sign.

He'd tried calling and texting the man, both to no avail. He never saw Tony without his phone, so either the inventor was ignoring him or he'd obtained, most likely made, himself a new one. Steve also knew that Tony's plane hadn't flown in the past week, which meant it was still in New York, so if the futurist was far away, he'd gotten there some other way. Flying commercial was out of the question, Tony claimed he was "allergic" to it, and all of his cars were still in the garage. Steve had also checked S.H.I.E.L.D. just in case, he seriously doubted Tony would ask any favors of Fury, but it could have been Clint's doing so he looked into it. No quinjets or vehicles of any kind were unaccounted for or checked out by Barton, Banner or Stark.

Damn, he had no idea where else to look. He didn't want to go to Fury with this, and Miss Potts, Col. Rhodes, Bruce and Clint were either MIA as well or just plain out of the question. Thor and Natasha had no idea, nor did Dr. Foster. Around dinner time he had pleaded with JARVIS again to tell him, pushing aside his firm belief that Tony should be the first to hear the words Steve needed to say.

"JARVIS, please," He begged, his tone was remorseful, but he couldn't quite hide the hint of irritation at the AI. "Can you at least get a message to him for me? I want to know that he's okay."

"Your wish is not my command, Captain Rogers." The supercomputer's voice was firm and cold. And as much as he disliked JARVIS at the moment, he loved Tony more for it. Yes, the AI was driving him crazy, but he was having this argument, and not the first, with a non-living, yet thinking creation of Tony's. There was real emotion in the voice and it was astounding, no matter how petulant it could be at times. There was also the small detail the JARVIS had the upper hand…as always.

"I really need to talk to him about this JARVIS; there are things to be said." He wasn't presenting a very strong case, he knew, but if he could just get the AI to tell Tony to call he could take it from there.

JARVIS didn't say anything, but his reply came in the form of Steve's computer coming to life, and a playback filling the screen. Steve recognized it immediately; it was from about two weeks ago. He was in Tony's room getting dressed while Tony lounged on the bed still naked, flushed and gorgeous after some pretty amazing sex. He heard his lover's voice through the speakers and felt his knees give a little.

"Hey babe, can you stay for a bit, I wanted to talk about us for a minute." There was a radiant smile on Tony's face, his secret smile, a smile he only ever shared with Steve and he would give anything to be able to see that smile in person again.

"Well I have to get back," he heard himself say dismissively.

He sat down on the bed, needing the support because he just remembered how the rest of the scene went. "Besides, what's there to talk about? This is good right?" And he watched himself ruffle Tony's hair, like he was a kid, or a dog. Then his phone rang and he saw himself look down at it excitedly, he remembered it was Claire who had called him then and all thoughts about Tony had been forgotten. He could hardly watch himself walk away but as he noticed the bright, beautiful look on Tony's face morph into visible hurt, he wondered if he had seen the expression that day would it have been enough for him to pull his head out of his ass sooner.

Asking for JARVIS' help was no longer an option, obviously.

He spent the next day and a half on his private floor, not wanting to see anyone. He had called Natasha only to learn she had no leads either and asked her to keep him informed. His phone hadn't rung. Most of the time he paced agitatedly, like a fox outside the hen house, but sometimes he drew, and every thought and every sketch were of Tony.

* * *

**A/N:** Thanks again to everyone who is reading and especially those leaving feedback.


	7. Chapter 7

Well, it wasn't quite the same as his previous years here, but it was comfortably familiar and relatively stimulating just the same. How many people his age wished they could relive their college years with the knowledge and experience gained after graduating and living in the real world? Tony wasn't prone to nostalgia, simply because he didn't have very many good memories to look back on fondly, but his years here were some of the best of his life.

Granted, he'd been young and an idiot when he'd first arrived at the Institute. Not intellectually, duh, but his classmates had all been through those teenage rights of passage he'd missed, those silly things like proms, spin the bottle, playing sports or even going to watch the "big game" on Friday nights. He'd never had a girlfriend per se, never been laid, never really had a true friend, and there he was at college, the poster boy for social ineptitude.

He'd rectified some of that pretty quickly, at least the getting laid part which only took about two weeks, because he was hot, rich, brilliant, charming and horny. And the true friend part, Rhodey, which took almost three months. James Rhodes was older than him, because wasn't everybody? He was a sophomore studying engineering like Tony, although the older man was an AeroAstro (aeronautics and astronautics) student, as opposed to Tony's chosen paths of Electrical Engineering and Computer Science, with an extensive side dose of Physics. Tony was a boy genius though, so they'd shared three courses that first year; Differential Equations, Computers and Engineering Problem Solving, and Statistics and Probability.

They'd bonded quickly over engineering but also because both were less than popular in the beginning. Tony was a prodigy, and funnily enough other smart people sometimes resented that, and Rhodey was black, which on a campus like theirs, having so many international students, shouldn't have been a big deal, but oddly for some asshole students it was. But being at MIT was about being smart, and they both were, so they'd fit in nicely after a semester of helping each other out.

Rhodey was athletic too, playing football and baseball, always the team sport kind of guy as opposed to Tony's country club background where tennis and golf were more his speed. And, yeah, technically those were teams too, but Tony didn't do well having a bunch of other guys rely on him for one particular throw or catch or hit to win a game, he preferred being responsible only for his own performance from start to finish. He'd come a long way from that sort of thinking, especially being part of the ultimate team now, The Avengers, but he had Rhodey to thank for teaching him about the value of team work all those years ago.

Rhodey wasn't here now though. He did have Clint and Bruce for a few days, and it had been nice but weird sharing his old life with his new team oriented one, mixing the genres of his life. Clint was basically still a kid in many ways, and he'd never gone to college, so he couldn't get enough of hanging out with the students in Tony's building, going to the rec center with them, and crashing three parties over the weekend in this building alone. He'd tried to help with setting up the lab (though Tony wouldn't let him near anything that had to do with JARVIS), the holographic network of screens, and the charging set-ups for Dum-E and U, but he'd been either in the way or playing with the robots. Eventually he'd left the scientists to it and gone exploring, meeting nearly everyone in the building.

"Seriously Stark, you don't care that you're paying for these kids to come here and study and this is the kind of shit they get up to on the weekends?" Clint asked, stumbling slightly before all but falling onto the couch. "Don't get me wrong, partying with brainiacs is some pretty crazy shit," he slurred, sliding down the cushions a bit. "I mean I hang out with you, don't I? Wait! Don't answer that," he snickered, "get it? Don't answer that?" he collapsed into a fit of giggles.

He'd been upstairs at the apartment of a sophomore named Brad, the third of four children from a single parent home in the poorest part of Tampa, Florida. Clint had bumped into him in the lobby coffee shop moments after their arrival and the kid had been carrying a quiver and arm guard, fresh from the archery range. It had been an instant friendship.

"Ha ha," Tony mumbled through his lips. He'd been trying to communicate that way a little more every day and Clint seemed a bit too drunk to read at the moment. He tapped his watch, asking why the party was over so early, it wasn't even midnight.

"He kicked us all out, something 'bout tomorrow and a pee recrement—quirement—requirthingy." He gave up on trying to pronounce the word, throwing his hands in the air in dramatic surrender before asking, "What the fuck is that all about?"

Tony's laugh snuck up on him before he could prepare for it. It hurt, but he couldn't help it, and god that was funny. Just as he was about to try and explain it simply to the drunken archer his ingenious creation spared him the trouble.

"MIT has a physical education plan that requires students to complete an 8 point General Institute Requirement as well as fulfill a swim requirement by the end of their second year." JARVIS informed the room at large, since Bruce had entered shortly after Clint staggered in.

"Wow, really?" Clint slurred incredulously. "They make you nerds run and swim and shit?"

Bruce made a strangled sort of noise at the insult. "Why is that so hard to believe, Caltech had a PE Req. too, well, not the swimming."

Clint laughed loudly, then snorted which caused even more laughter. "You guys too? Huh, dork sports. Bet that's hilarious, m'gonna go watch." Clint's eyes closed before he finished the sentence, and he punctuated the last word by letting his head slide down to the arm of the sofa, landing on top of the remote control, too sleepy and drunk to care.

"That's going to hurt in the morning." Bruce said, nodding to Clint who was already drooling slightly onto the remote. "Let's see who the bigger dork is tomorrow when he has that imprinted on his face."

Tony snickered. The devious streak in Bruce was nothing really new to him, he'd seen the physicist pull off more than one practical joke on Thor, but Clint hadn't.

"You know, Tony," Bruce said with a much more serious tone. "It's a wonderful thing you do for these kids." He gestured around at the room, "giving them a chance like this, a place like this. The lab downstairs is incredible and these kids get it all to themselves, never mind the spacious apartments."

He was about to blow it off as nothing, saying a lot of other people did the same, but once again JARVIS answered for him.

"Sir is very modest about his scholarships and those in the name of Col. Rhodes as well."

Tony glared at the camera in the corner of the room.

"I know you don't like to talk about it, but it is very generous and something to be proud of." Bruce said with a sort of earnest gravity. "Wait, you fund more than just the Stark scholarships? Really?" Bruce asked unbelievingly, not that he doubted JARVIS' information, but he was a scientist, he required clarification, taking very few things at face value. He knew about Tony's, and the Maria Stark Foundation's but this was the first he'd heard about Tony funding something in Col. Rhode's name as well.

Tony shrugged, still glaring at the camera in a battle of wills to get J to shut the fuck up. The last thing he needed was anyone finding out about his Steven G. Rogers scholarship to the Brooklyn Institute of Arts and Sciences. He didn't like to brag about it, but it was a no brainer, his money was much better spent on education than drugs, parties, women, and more cars he didn't need. And he'd gotten more than a few highly qualified engineers at Stark Industries from MIT, his endowments in particular, but it was by no means obligatory or a condition of the scholarship in any way.

He was a little more biased in Stark Industries internship program, taking as many MIT applicants as Pepper would let him, but hey, it _was_ the most prestigious tech institute in the world.

Tony leaned back into the depths of his chair, taking a long sip of scotch through the straw. Even if he could talk, as in really converse, how would he explain that feeling of needing to escape from his life, his parents, and his background, of wanting to go somewhere and start over fresh? Howard hadn't wanted him to go to MIT, he wanted the Stark line to continue at his old alma mater, but Tony had been stubborn, more stubborn than Howard for once and he hadn't been afraid when he faced his father about it. MIT had been his dream for years and he wouldn't have given that up for anything, including his asshole of a father.

And he'd been right; he'd thrived here. His intelligence was remarkable, but it wasn't such a great divide between him and everyone else while at the Institute, here everyone was smart. Not everyone could keep up with him, that was certainly nothing new, but there were a few who could, and that was novel. And he'd gotten Rhodey out of it, so that alone was worth the fight it had been to come here.

So if he could help even one kid achieve the same dream, he would. If money was what stood in the way of someone facing anything like what he had faced then how could he not help? Money was one thing he had in abundance.

As he looked at Bruce, lines etched around his tired eyes, he couldn't help but acknowledge Bruce did know what it was like, that if anyone could understand it was Banner. In fact, now that he recalled, Bruce actually had it worse, and that was saying something. His father, after all, was an equally intelligent yet much more violent version of Howard. Bruce had faced many of the same hardships and had a ridiculously high IQ as well, so upon reflection he realized Bruce's upbringing—wealth aside—was as similar to his as anyone he could think of.

And JARVIS, because Tony was either more transparent then he meant to be or because the AI had become that intuitive when the genius wasn't looking, lit up the tablet screen on the table beside his creator, knowing Tony had something to say that couldn't be mumbled.

He picked it up and began typing, not pulling any pretenses, going right for the heart of the matter…_you know what it's like to want to take your brain and go somewhere it can be appreciated, to leave the place where you're never good enough even though you're good at everything, a place where you can forget…all the other crap and just learn. _It wasn't a question, just a statement of fact. _Some of these kids might need that too._ He handed it to Bruce and took a long, slow drink, not meeting the Dr.'s eyes.

Bruce read what he had typed and lowered the tablet, waiting for Tony to look at him, which he finally did after a few more sips and some nervous fidgeting. Bruce still hadn't said anything but his eyes were glittering with thought, and Tony wondered if they were about to have a go at 'guess whose dad is the bigger dick'. Bruce would actually win, and that was a game Tony did think he would ever lose at.

Bruce still hadn't spoken by the time Tony finished his drink so he rose and headed to the bar, trying his hardest not to think about Howard Stark and Brian Banner, but refilling his glass just in case, because that was a conversation highly suited to vast alcohol consumption.

"You shouldn't drink so much," Bruce finally said, but it was dry and resigned. "Meaning you should save enough for me." Tony heard the slight creak and rustle behind him indicating his friend had gotten up from his seat and was approaching. He poured them each three fingers of scotch and turned around.

Bruce looked haunted, but it didn't transfer to his conversational tone. "I do know what it's like to feel that, and you're one of a kind, Tony, because of what you've done in spite of it." He took the offered glass, held it up and said, "cheers, buddy," before downing it all in one swallow.

Tony raised an eyebrow and quirked his lip, lifted his glass to the toast then took a very large gulp from the straw. It was the first time he'd seen Banner drink alcohol and he was apparently going at it with gusto, holding out his glass for a refill. Tony obliged happily and cast around for something he could change the subject to but Bruce beat him to it by asking "Did Howard do this the first time?" as he waved at Tony's face.

What the hell was the use of lying about it? He was with the one person who could understand better than anyone, and though the truth wasn't easy to find, it was out there for someone who was really digging. He nodded, keeping eye contact the entire time because Bruce's face was taking on the edge of deep concern. And yeah, it sucked talking about it, but these were old wounds and he'd had years to deal with his memories. Commiserating about it with someone else was new, and a bit unwelcome, though it could have been a lot worse; Bruce could have wanted to talk about the much fresher wounds inflicted on him by Steve.

And that's how they spent the next hour and a half, just as he'd feared, going back and forth in a rousing version of 'guess whose dad is the bigger dick'. And as he'd predicted, Bruce was the winner…

hatred, abuse and murder trumped anger, neglect and abuse every time. But they'd had many toasts and even a few laughs before they'd had to hold each other up on the trek down the hall to their respective bedrooms.

* * *

Tony was woken up the next morning by the gentle, but still unwelcome voice of JARVIS. "Good morning, Sir. Miss Potts is on the line, and as this concerns Dr. Banner as well, I have woken him so you can both view the call in the kitchen. And the coffee is ready," he threw in as a peace offering.

He grumbled as he stretched, surprised by how much his head didn't hurt after finishing off a full bottle of scotch last night, good scotch too. It must be the pain meds he was taking, making it a much better start to the day than he'd expected. The fuzziness was all but gone too, a good sign that the concussion was working itself out.

As he made his way to the kitchen he heard what could only be a hung over Bruce imploring J to keep it down. He chuckled out loud, having been there so many times himself. He tapped the face of his watch, not really caring what time it was, but he loved keeping JARVIS on his metaphorical toes with the gestures.

"The time is 10:42," came the placid, and overly soft, reply.

"Tony, what have you done to Dr. Banner?" came the not so placid, slightly shrill and far from soft voice of Pepper.

Bruce winced and dropped his head onto his hands. Tony headed to the coffee maker to get them both a cup as JARVIS answered for him. "They bonded, Miss Potts, over scotch."

Tony and Pepper both laughed and Bruce groaned loudly. "Nice Tony, though you seem surprisingly unaffected. Anyways, you have an appointment tomorrow morning at nine with Dr. Fulton; J has the address. She wants to see you in her office at least the first time in case anything needs to be done, but she's willing to come there once a week afterwards, okay? And JARVIS, I've told you before, you can call me Pepper, Miss Potts is so formal."

"I'm sorry, Miss Potts. I'm British, and therefore formal. I'm afraid the best I could do is ma'am, or possibly Miss Virginia."

"J, you do know you're not actually British, right?" Tony murmured. "You are modeled after someone who was British, and he would have called her anything she wanted."

"I do not believe Mr. Edwin Jarvis suffered from the sin of indulgence, Sir." JARVIS said, a bit too uppity. Bruce laughed, and then grunted.

"My mother had to send her prized Persian cat to a fat farm because Edwin was so indulgent." Seriously, he needed more caffeine for this.

"I prefer Miss Potts to Miss Virginia, and you can forget about ma'am altogether." Pepper said, effectively ending the argument and smiling behind her hand. "But think about it J, practice it…that's what I want for my birthday. And Tony, call me after your appointment, while the others are still there, please."

He nodded, because it was easier than typing an argument with less than one cup of coffee in him.

"Good. Dr. Banner, I'm counting on you to make sure he goes, he's very sneaky about these things, so consider yourself warned." She turned back to Tony with a sly look before she blew him a kiss and disconnected. Again, his caffeine consumption was still too low for him to put up much of a fight. He was trying to gulp down as much as he could, he might not be hung over or so concussed still, but he was sleepy, and hot coffee through a straw could only be swallowed so fast.

"Well, so much for sleeping in," Tony mumbled.

Bruce didn't answer, but pushed the container of protein powder across the counter towards the other man, lifting his head slightly to watch the inventor with one bleary eye. Tony huffed, but added a spoon full to his coffee, making sure to stir it in, it had no taste, but could be gritty as hell if not mixed well, as he'd found out last night with the booze. As he turned to put the spoon in the sink he caught sight of a box on the counter with a note attached.

_Hey guys,_

_I headed out to the range with Brad. Sorry if I was a prick last night, but I got those danish you guys love so much, so we're good right?_

_Tony, there is a pureed danish smoothie in the fridge for you. Sorry about Dum-E._

_C. _

It was Tony's turn to groan. The robot probably had icing or danish filling all over himself…god damn it. Why had he ever introduced the hapless bot to the fucking blender? And why did Barton spoil him, there was a blender in the kitchen for christ's sake. He grabbed his coffee and the danish smoothie—what the hell, it was worth a try—then headed to the lab, placing the bakery box with the note by Bruce's head.

Surprisingly Dum-E wasn't the mess he'd expected. Instead his first and favorite bot had only one drop of icing at the tip of his camera, placed there on purpose no doubt. He also sported a maroon MIT shirt that said **NERD PRIDE** across the front, had a miniature MIT pennant taped to the top of his dunce cap—Dum-E loved the thing, what could he say?—and a sign taped to his base that said _Tony, I can't decide who's my favorite nerd._ He couldn't help laughing; Bruce might be insulted, but Tony had certainly been called much worse, and Barton was without a doubt his favorite archer.

And when Clint returned from the archery range a few hours later, it was to Tony and a very sleepy looking Bruce camped out on the couch watching television.

"So it turns out that smart people can be pretty athletic too," Clint said, with a shade of contrition. "In fact, do you know how much science is involved in archery? Brad mentioned this Hooke's Law thing…"

He was cut off as both geniuses spoke in unison, "F = -kx**.**" [3]

"Of course you know that. I'm the stupid one here, I need to go back to the tower and be around Thor." Clint flung himself, completely without grace, into the closest armchair.

"Archery is 100% physics; _you_ just compute the factors in your head without seeing the equations." Bruce offered, without lifting his head from the back of the sofa. "If I wasn't so hung over I could probably tell you how long the remote imprint stayed on your face, based on the weight of the average human head and some simple pressure variables." The physicist teased, not sounding hung over at all.

This time it was Clint who made the strangled sound before blowing out a huff of air. "I get it. Everything we do involves science and you ner—smart people are just lucky enough to see the math behind it, make adjustments and compensate."

"So let me guess," Tony said. "Brad was spouting some shit about the laws of conservative momentum, or throwing out some basic trigonometry—2FCos(A)Cos(B)=Draw Weight [4], and now you're what—questioning your intelligence?" It was the most he'd tried to mumble through his lips since this morning, and his first equation, which was probably unintelligible, but he went on. "Let me ask you this, who was the more accurate shot?"

"Me." The archer responded, slightly less confident than usual when it came to his skills with a bow.

"Then your equations were better, and you didn't even know you were doing them." Tony paused for effect, letting it sink in a little, because he knew his friend very well, which meant he knew where the other man's thoughts were heading when he got down on himself like this.

Clint blamed himself for Coulson's death—completely ludicrous—and so far nothing any of them said seemed to help the archer think differently. "You're the best at what you do, but that's not why Loki chose you, and not because you're in any way weak minded. You were simply in the wrong place at the wrong time. A higher IQ would have changed nothing…look at Dr. Selvig, he's incredibly brilliant and his big brain didn't stop Loki. You are not responsible for agent Coulson."

At Coulson's name Clint shuddered and a deep hurt flashed in his eyes, he squirmed uncomfortably, but then composed himself quickly, squared his shoulders, and responded, "Thanks buddy. You always know just what to mumble, even if you're lying through your teeth—literally. And I can't believe you would throw out 'big brain' and not go for the Pulp Fiction reference…'check out the big brain on Brad.' Seriously, I was just talking about how smart _Brad_ is. You're losing your touch, Tony."

Barton was deflecting, Tony recognized the signs because he was a master at it himself, and he decided to play along and not push the issue. He knew, thanks to Pepper, what it was like to have something so raw poked at and prodded, opened up for discussion before he was ready. Eventually Clint would see the truth, the guilt would never totally be gone, he knew, because they all carried a little bit of that same remorse. And Clint was right…how the fuck had he missed that one? He loved that movie, quoted it often, but lately he'd cut back on a lot of the modern day movie references because Steve never got them and he hadn't wanted to make the soldier feel even more out of place by mentioning them so much. And letting Steve watch Pulp Fiction didn't really seem like a good idea just yet.

"Just for that, I'm telling Thor you think he's stupid." Tony quipped to change the subject as Bruce laughed softly and ran a hand over his face to dispel the sleepiness.

"And I'll tell Reed you think he's smarter than you." Tony choked when Clint said it. Talking without moving most of his mouth caused a build up in saliva, which was disgusting to swallow, but he'd been about to when Clint threw that at him.

"Ouch," Bruce chuckled, joining the conversation as he rose to pat Tony on the back and hopefully ease the sputtering. "That's a low blow; you hit him right where it hurts most."

Tony didn't correct him that mentioning Steve would be where it hurt most. Instead he pretended to recover from the saliva debacle, letting them think the sour expression on his face was due to that.

And there went another day when he tried not to think about Steve and failed miserably.

Tony had no idea what the hell he would do tomorrow when his teammates left. They were a very welcome distraction from his morose thoughts, and once they were gone he would have all that time on his hands to just wallow. He was a good wallower, great actually, but it wasn't healthy and it was far from productive. And that was a problem too; he didn't have any of his projects here to be productive with.

He'd wanted to sneak a suit on the trip, but JARVIS would have sold him out to Pep in a heartbeat. He'd just finished the smaller, cufflink version too. It had finally been ready to give to Steve—and who knew the shield would prove almost as difficult to reconstruct on a smaller scale as the armor? He should probably just give them to Steve anyways, later—much later—when they could be friends again. Tony could fake almost anything; he had years…decades of practice, but fooling everyone (and himself) into thinking he was okay just being pals with Steve might be a bit of a challenge. He needed to get himself under control these next few weeks if he wanted to remain part of the team. It was time for the old standbys, bury and repress, two of his oldest friends.

Clint cleared his throat dramatically, "so, are we going out on the town for our last night or did you have something else in mind?" Tony didn't really want to go anywhere and be recognized, he still had the bandages on his face until at least tomorrow, and he didn't want that story or those pictures floating around out there. The question seemed probing though, not like Barton wanted to know their plans, more like he was fishing for what was expected of him.

Bruce seemed to be thinking along the same lines as Tony because he spoke up right away, which wasn't really his style outside of the lab. "I think lying low might be a good idea, at least until Tony sees the doctor tomorrow."

"Were you hoping to debauch some fine young coeds?" Tony waggled his eyebrow. The effect was questionable with only one showing, but the look on Clint's face told him he'd done okay. "We won't tell Natasha," He added bravely.

Clint stammered as a blush crept up his neck, turning his face a light pink. A fucking blush—on Barton—would wonders never cease?

"I don't—we're not…it's not like that…with us. We're—well I'm not sure exactly what we are, but not that, not for a while now." Clint turned his face away from them and willed the heat to go away. He did not want to have this discussion, did not want to talk about his feelings with them. Ever. But there was nothing between him and Nat anymore and it was probably best if everyone knew that.

"We're very much like you and Pepper." He said, turning back towards the other two, "There was something briefly, but we both realized we're better without the complications of that kind of involvement." Tony understood implicitly, and didn't need Clint to further explain, though he did by adding, "She's my best friend."

And Tony saw something in the archer just then, envisioned his previous discomfort of the subject, but not in regards to Natasha…something else, or someone else had caused the flush on his friends face. It had been the comment about the coeds…had he met someone here? Tony's mind started adding up the variables automatically, the seemingly unprompted belittlement of his own intelligence, the disappearing acts yesterday, last night and this morning. It had only been two days, and the time Clint was away from them was mostly spent with Brad—_holy shit!_

No way. There was no way his friend could have that particular inclination. He would have noticed, would have seen some sign in the many months he had been close to the man, despite Clint's ability to be composed and often unreadable. For fucks sake, Tony had confided in him about Steve, in direct opposition to Cap's wishes, because sometimes he'd just needed to talk about it. And speaking, or thinking, of Steve, had he ever seen the archer look at their leader appraisingly, because come on, Steve was the epitome of masculine perfection no matter what your specific taste.

And now that he wasn't oblivious to it, what other times had he seen that behavior from Clint? The slight flush, the nervous squirming, the tenuous smiles…who else other than Brad? He couldn't remember seeing Clint uncomfortable talking about anyone else, except maybe…

"Coulson." It just tumbled out; there was simply no stopping the idiotic slip. It was a pretty bad habit of his, but you'd think having your jaw wired closed would help with that—but nope, apparently not. His discomfort at the slip was nothing compared to Barton's though.

The silence that followed could only be described as awkward. Tony felt like a complete ass, not only had the one word outed Clint—something he knew from experience should only happen when one was completely ready for it—but he'd also spilled what was clearly a highly guarded secret.

Tony should have played it off as something else, brushed over the slip or covered it up with bullshit rambling, he was very skilled in that department, but the truth was that he was just too shocked. He felt like he'd been literally stunned, and could not think of a single thing to say.

And god bless Bruce, he chose that moment to turn away towards the kitchen, the picture of nonchalance, like he hadn't heard or noticed anything. It was smooth, like Natasha would have handled it, with no trace of 'oops, I overheard something I shouldn't'. Tony wasn't even sure Banner did realize what had just happened, but knowing what he knew of the doctor's keen senses, he'd bet Bruce had figured out what Tony meant by the slip. He watched the scientist's retreat, and then turned back to Clint, certain the remorse he felt was showing on every visible feature, imploring pardon.

"You're too fucking smart for your own good. That is the very last thing I plan to say on the matter without being rip-roaring drunk. Which will happen soon, but tonight is about you, Tony. There are other things to discuss, things that need to be addressed but I've been hesitant to bring up." Tony stared at him, knowing the "things" Clint spoke of meant Steve, and what would happen when the other two were back at the tower with their captain. He couldn't argue, he wanted to, but he knew Clint was right and Tony did owe him after his fuck up moments ago.

"And just to set the record straight," Clint began, and then paused letting Tony think the worst was coming, "I don't think Thor is stupid, just stupider than you guys, and let's face it—who isn't…besides Reed Richards, of course?" The archer added, smiling devilishly.

Happy joined them for a dinner of takeout Chinese. They'd all decided after an hour of throwing out hypothetical situations, growing more and more ridiculous with every beer, that no one should lie to Steve if the subject of Tony's whereabouts came up. Tony didn't imagine Steve would really care on a personal level, hell…his absence would only help Steve pursue a relationship with the home wrecker, but as the others pointed out he was the captain of their team and he took the well being of its members very seriously, super-punch excluded—obviously.

Every man there admitted how difficult that would be if Steve really wanted to know, his stubbornness could be insufferable, but they all promised to stay strong in the face of that particular scenario. And Tony knew they would all try, whether or not they did was left to be seen, and if someone did fold under the pressure, what did it matter, it wasn't like Steve would come find him anyways?

He wasn't as drunk as last night with Bruce, but he was close when they all headed to bed. He thought back on the evening's discussions and took a moment to imagine that Steve was looking for him, pestering JARVIS and Pepper and needing to see him, and not to end things with words, as if the whore-kissing and the punch weren't enough of a signal to him. When he did finally fall asleep he nearly had a wet dream, it wouldn't have been his first by a long shot and certainly not his first about Steve—though, strangely enough, his very first wet dream ever had featured Captain America as the main attraction, but he'd woken up just in time, painfully hard.

He'd touched himself, because there was no way he could let an erection like that go to waste, thinking of the soldier's hands on him, not a first there either. When he use to do that thinking of the super soldier he'd only had imagination as his source, but now he had real, vivid memories of how strong and possessive those hands could be in person.

Darkness still hung outside the windows, but he didn't care if that meant it was really late or really early, he wouldn't fall back asleep now. He had a moment of wistful envy of the times he could do nothing but fall asleep after coming hard like that, but Steve had changed that for him, in addition to the long list of other things. When they'd been together, and he guessed he used that term in the most literal sense now, Steve would never stay and fall asleep, at least not for very long. He claimed he feared having one of the others see him leaving Tony's room at an early hour and put things together. Tony couldn't have fucking cared less who knew about them, he would shout it from the top of his tower, but he'd respected Steve's wishes—though maybe if he'd known the real reason he wouldn't have.

Anyways, for many months now, he would either lay awake or head to his lab after the magnificent orgasms he was guaranteed with Steve. He would spend the time thinking about the two of them, of how he could make it better, how to help Steve get over his fear of coming out about them, at least to the rest of the team. He would tinker too, either in his head or actually with his hands, depending on where he was, but thoughts of Steve were always a running theme in his crowded mind.

He decided to get up now and head to his lab, it might be under stocked compared to New York but it was a distraction at least. If he could bite his tongue he would have because he couldn't shake the overwhelming urge to ask J about Steve, how he was and where he was. It was always that last thought that kept him from opening his mouth, metaphorically of course, because he didn't really want to know. So he worked on upgrades for Clint and Natasha's weapons of choice to pass the time until his appointment.

Bruce found him there around 8:00, looking just slightly better than yesterday morning. "Hanging out with you and Clint is taking years off my life." Bruce said, though he was smiling. "Happy is picking us up in thirty minutes."

Tony responded with a whining groan. He was dreading this, but anxious to have the bandages off. No matter what this doctor said, he was taking them off anyways once his teammates left, but he needed to be good for Pepper and not cause her undue stress—more undue stress than usual.

The ride to the office was short, and he and Bruce were ushered right in, because he was Tony Stark, and he didn't sit in waiting rooms. J had assured him that the confidentiality agreements were signed, and that the doctor only was to know of the visit, no other staff unless absolutely necessary.

Dr. Fulton, the oral and maxillofacial surgeon, was as efficient as she was attractive. Her bed side manner left something to be desired, which just means she was immune to his flirting, but hey, you couldn't have it all.

She skillfully, but with absurdly chilly fingers, removed the bandages, x-rayed the mandible fractures, removed the sutures from the cheek and carefully examined his eye. "I've seen the record notes from the surgeries, and everything seems to be healing nicely. The mandible looks great; we might be able to remove the arch bars a week earlier than originally expected. Do you have pain in the eye?" she asked while shining a light in it.

"No," he mumbled. She was holding his eyelid up to use the light, so he didn't dare shake his head. It wasn't comfortable, but it had been taped closed for almost a week.

"That's a good sign. The reduced swelling is more than I'd hoped for, but they gave you a pretty heavy dose of steroids. Tell me what you can see, and don't close the other eye, it'll put to much strain on the injured one."

_Was it possible for someone to be snappishly polite?_

"Just blurry shapes," He answered, did she expect more than that right out of the gate?

"Good. That's good, any colors?" she asked, stepping towards him and holding a grey card about four inches in front of his good eye. _Jesus lady, it's been uncovered for like three minutes, give me a second to adjust. _

"Yes, a lot of white, and some red."

She nodded, taking the card away. "Does the brightness seem the same in both eyes?" She continued, jotting down notes. And after his murmured reply in the affirmative, she went on, "I'm not an ophthalmologist, and you may need to see one, but so far I'm very hopeful. Let's leave it uncovered; it may affect your depth perception for the rest of the day. Do you wear glasses?"

Wow, talk about all business. Every time she had something positive to say about his recovery, she followed it up with something snappish…Pepper would love her. "Sometimes to read, but not as often as I should," He confessed, looking at Bruce, who seemed somewhat awed by her.

"Starting now see that you do, there's no need to put stress on either eye right now. Twenty minutes at a time with the reading or any screen time, and yes, that includes your computer and phone, then a thirty minute break at least…rest it more than you use it. Make sure you don't close one eye to focus the other, we're looking to build strength here, and the more you use them normally, the faster the healing." She actually paused to take a breath, but it was very brief. "Most of the damage to the area was structural, and not to the organ itself so the vision should only continue to get clearer. Make sure you don't sleep on that side of your face now, stay on the other side or on your back. And no hair products in the shower or bath for another forty eight hours, we don't want any running into the eye." She was like a female version of C-3PO, droning on and on and on.

"Okay," was all he said, ready to get the hell out of there. The news was all good, but he felt like he was in the headmaster's office waiting while his parents were called.

"Don't stop the antibiotics, use them until they're gone," she continued, as if he were a moron. "And at this point less is more with the painkillers; we want to know if you have more than general tenderness." She looked at him pointedly, like she thought, or had read, that he was the type to overindulge or something, _those days are long gone honey_.

Christ, enough already, yada, yada, yada, blah, blah, blah. No wonder he hadn't seen a ring on her frigid finger, geesh.

Once they were back in the car, and after Happy and Clint fawned all over his un-bandaged face, he turned to Bruce, eyebrow raised in question, knowing his meaning was clear.

"She was pretty amazing." Bruce answered, his tone a weird mixture of tolerance and humor.

"I'll give you the pretty, but I can't agree on the amazing—skilled, okay—competent, yes—but amazing, afraid not, Nurse Ratched had a better bedside manner." Slightly over the top perhaps, but he was making a point.

"Nurse Ratched was hot…and stacked." Happy said from the front seat. And thank God he had his eyes on the road because Tony, Bruce and Clint all stared incredulously at the back of his head.

"There is no way you're serious," Clint said slowly, disbelief in every syllable.

"Okay, I know she was a crazy bitch and everything, but, still hot." Happy replied, clearly serious, because he wasn't that good of an actor.

"This might border on too much information, but I just can't let it pass. She's who I always pictured to get rid of those awkward teenage problems, if you know what I mean. Absolute boner killer, that one." Clint said, gesturing to Tony and Bruce for agreement.

Bruce made a sound somewhere between a burp, a snort and a giggle, but higher pitched, then recovered and asked, "How is that border at all fuzzy? That is definitely too much information; seriously, _years_ off my life!"

Tony was laughing too hard to join in, thankful the stitches were gone from his face because the strain surely would have pulled them.

Damn he was going to miss these guys.

They ordered Italian food a little while after returning to Tony's building. It was their last meal together for a week or so. Happy devoured his lunch then went to pack up the car, and Bruce followed, leaving the other two to say goodbye. The plan was for the driver to take the others to Logan Airport where Tony's plane awaited them and then return, because he was staying per Pepper's orders.

"You have pureed meatball in your beard." Clint snickered as they were finishing the last of their drinks before following the others downstairs.

"It's called a van-dyke, heathen. But if you have to dummy it down, at least call it a goatee—beard is so…Grizzly Adams." Tony quipped, wiping his chin with a crumpled napkin. He knew it wasn't much more than thick, unshaped stubble at the moment, but it would be his trademark van-dyke again soon, and he was going with that.

"Wow, you're old. Grizzly Adams is who you come up with for an iconic beard reference? You gotta at least step it up a decade—ZZ Top or, you know, something current like Duck Dynasty." Clint teased, but then his face shifted from jovial to serious. "Tony, about yesterday…" He trailed off, whether it was to gather his thoughts before continuing, or to give Tony a chance to interject, he didn't know. He didn't want to talk about Steve or Coulson, but he did want to be there for his friend the way Clint always seemed to be there for him, so he chose to remain silent and at least see where this was going.

"I don't know how your fucking brain got from one place to the other, but you were right, mostly. There is a thing—was a thing, but he didn't know about it." To the average person that might seem random, but Tony wasn't average, at least where his intellect was concerned, so his brain went right to Coulson. "I never said anything to him, and maybe he did know somewhere deep in his subconscious, but it never came up. That's what I regret most of all. So this thing with Steve, I get it because my situation is similar, well, not the muscles, or the sex, and Steve is still alive…but the loving someone and knowing their feelings aren't the same."

Fuck, how was he supposed to respond to that? He decided to go with unabashed honesty the way Clint had. "I never told him either, he didn't know I wanted it to be more than casual."

"Is that what helps you sleep at night? Because he _should_ have known; for fuck's sake Tony, even I could see that. And if he couldn't then his goddamned heart and soul are still frozen from the ice. This—what happened—is not your fault, not by any stretch of your fucked up imagination." Clint said with a sudden surliness.

"It's not yours either." Tony mumbled through the thickening in his throat. He swallowed past the lump and went on before Clint could derail him, "We shouldn't have waited, either one of us, but we did and now we're here. What choice do we have other than to make the best of it?" Tony asked rhetorically, feeling a sudden desire to end this discussion. And when the hell had he become so idealistic? "You should have told me months ago that you liked cock too, we could have saved ourselves some pain."

There…that was more like him_._

His comment had the desired effect of ending the seriousness at least; Clint nearly dropped the bottle he was about to drink from. "You are hot, Tony, and quite a catch, great ass too, but I've never really thought like that before Phil. I'll spare you the sordid details of what goes on under the Big-Top, but I'd say I'm more Phil-sexual than bisexual…sorry." It was a very personal truth barely camouflaged by humor, but it was easier for both of them to deal with that way. So, yeah, this was definitely _not_ the time to ask about Brad.

"Right, go-fucking-figure…I'm going back to hookers." Tony laughed as he said it.

"Please, like you've ever had to pay for it; especially with an ass like that."

"You seem pretty interested in my ass for someone who claims not to want it, but it is fantastic, so who can blame you?" He clinked his bottle against Clint's before pulling the last few sips from the straw. "Now get the fuck out of here before I have to picture Nurse Ratched in my head." Tony said, grinning as he heard Clint sputter, spitting out his mouthful of beer.

* * *

*All of the course and PE requirement information for MIT were taken directly from their website or course catalog.

*The back story on Bruce was taken from Marvel Universe Wiki except the Caltech reference which was found on the MARVEL database. According to that site he only recieved his PhD from Caltech, but I just went with it (and they do also have a PE requirement).

[3] Mathematically, Hooke's law states that the applied force F equals a constant k times the displacement or change in length x, or F = kx. The value of k depends not only on the kind of elastic material under consideration but also on its dimensions and shape. Sometimes Hooke's law is formulated as F = −kx. In this expression F no longer means the applied force but rather means the equal and oppositely directed restoring force that causes elastic materials to return to their original dimensions.

[4]Taken from a Physics of Archery website I'm not able to list here, but there are a few to check out...just google physics of archery, or draw weight of a bow.

**A/N: **Again, because I just can't say it enough, thanks to everyone who is reading and taking the time to review, Fav/Follow :)


	8. Chapter 8

**A/N:** Thanks again for the feedback, it really means a lot, even the rant at someone else's review :)...It seems to have bothered you more than me, but thank you and I hope a negative comment isn't what's kept you from posting a new story in so long-I keep checking and look forward to your work.

* * *

Steve emerged from his self imposed exile Monday morning. He'd spent the last two days in a valiant struggle not to pull his hair out or call Miss Potts and demand information from her or beg JARVIS again. He did call Natasha to check in after his run, not expecting any news because he was sure she would have called him with anything, but she did say she had a tiny lead that she wanted to look into though it might not go anywhere. She suggested they meet at HQ to talk about it and he agreed eagerly, deciding to head there early for his first hot shower in almost a week. Sure, JARVIS was being a bit of a bully, something everyone knew Steve detested, but he still refused to fight with the computer about it, he would have lost that fight, but also it was a small way for the creation to avenge its creator, and Steve actually respected that, despite the petty way it was being carried out.

Natasha's lead was indeed tiny. All she could find out was that Happy and a Stark Industries SUV were missing as well, presumably with Tony since Miss Potts was still in town. Even though the vehicle was large, it wasn't big enough for Happy, Tony, Bruce, Clint their gear and Dum-E and U, who were also missing. That would mean a trailer of some sort, and Tony's was still in the garage, added to that, none of the trailer rentals from nearby companies matched. They'd spent most of the day checking rental contracts and ID's, all of which were legitimate.

When he returned to the tower later that day, Clint and Bruce were in the group kitchen slicing vegetables and browning meat. The archer noticed him first and chose to offer nothing by way of greeting other than a smug, knowing smirk. It was obvious the man had information about Tony, otherwise, Steve suspected, the look would have held more of the anger Steve was used to seeing from him. And Steve was pretty good at reading people, certainly not women and definitely not Tony, but agents and soldiers and most of his teammates, again, not Tony or Natasha. So as much as he wanted to put Clint up to the wall and question him, he realized that would yield nothing, the spy was highly trained in guarding information through interrogation. Steve opted, instead, for polite conversation.

"Where have you two been?" It was a very thinly veiled attempt at casual.

"What the hell is it—" Clint started angrily, but was cut off by Bruce.

"We were with Tony," Bruce answered, turning off the stove, as Clint glared at the doctor. "He's settled and under medical supervision."

"Way to stay strong, Bruce" Clint offered up derisively.

"Where is he?" Steve asked, again in his would be casual tone. They were three simple words, but those words had been torturing him for days, and now it seemed he was so close to finally having an answer.

"I won't tell you that, Steve, because I've been asked not to. Just know that he's all right, healing better than expected actually, and leave it at that, okay?"

It absolutely was not okay. "Please, Bruce, I really need to—"

"We don't care what you really need. Maybe you should have thought of that, oh say, _before_ breaking his face." Clint said, in a near perfect imitation of Tony at his sarcastic best. "The fact that you two were fucking changes a lot of things, that's abuse or domestic violence, or intimate partner violence, whatever, they all amount to the same thing…look it up." He knew Tony would be pissed if this conversation got back to him, and he knew that to his friend it was much more than fucking, but that's what made him so goddamned mad at Steve.

"You're right, you are, and I don't expect his forgiveness, but I just—I have to tell him, have to apologize." Steve was in very real danger of breaking down in front of them. Clint's words were harsh and he expected Tony's would be even harsher, but he still believed above all else that Tony deserved his apologies, for everything, whether or not he wanted them. Because no matter how bad Steve was feeling about all the things that had happened, he would at least fell better, maybe even a little peace, if he knew that Tony loved him still. So if Tony had that little bit of information it might help him as well, even if he no longer wanted anything to do with Steve.

"So, you want to totally disregard his wishes in favor of what _you_ want…again? That's a brilliant plan." Clint said arrogantly, with such a bored expression that Steve wanted to slap it right off his face. He reluctantly dialed back his anger, vowing to himself then and there to never hit another person just for words again, no matter how sarcastic or cutting.

Bruce couldn't say he liked where this was going, Steve was white knuckled and gritting his teeth and Clint was borderline feral, but had at least put down the chopping knife. But this was a conversation that had to happen sooner or later, so why not now? Hopefully neither of them would say something awful or fling an insult that couldn't be forgiven, but Steve seemed honestly abashed, and Clint was doing what he thought was best to protect their friend.

Steve stood his ground, sort of, well, not really, but it couldn't be called a retreat either. "Okay, you don't have to tell me where, just let me talk to him. I mean, tell him that I'd really like to speak with him and ask if that's all right."

"You do know that his jaw is wired closed, right? In addition to all the other shit, so talking really isn't his thing right now." Clint lied. Or, it wasn't a lie exactly, more like a very misleading statement. And it was said to make Steve feel even worse than he obviously already did. And judging by the recoil and expression of pure anguish, it worked. There was a deviant sparkle in the archer's eyes, an indication he was enjoying Steve's misery.

Bruce decided to step in, "The next time I speak with him, I'll mention your request. Just don't get your hopes up, and know that he's happy where he is right now."

"Thank you," Steve said, nodding at Bruce and then turning to Clint. "You have no idea how much I regret what I did," He appealed to the archer, and there was a slight chance his face betrayed to the others that he meant so much more than just the loss of temper.

Natasha came in then, unseen by all but Steve, but as he was about to acknowledge her Clint took a step towards him and he looked livid.

And Clint couldn't reign himself in, the subject of Phil too fresh in his mind from this morning with Tony and the rest of the day spent thinking about his mistakes. "You think I don't know about regret?" The question wasn't loud, and not angry really, more like very cold and as dark as his mood. "Coulson died because of me. He's not here anymore because of me. I let him down and he died and that eats away at me a little more every day. How's that for fucking regret?"

The air in the room was suddenly sullen and hostile. Natasha looked stunned, which was a pretty rare occurrence. Bruce didn't seem surprised by the outburst, but rather sad, and Steve felt that uneasy sickness he was getting far too familiar with, but with the insight from Clint he suddenly understood a little better the man's fierce protectiveness of Tony.

It was Steve who broke the silence. "I'm sorry that you feel that way, that you claim the entire fault as your own, because it isn't. It really, really isn't, and he definitely wouldn't want you to feel like it was. He did what he felt was the right thing to do. Allow him the dignity of that choice." It was a recycled sentiment, but it was the only one that had really helped him after Bucky died.

"I'm glad he has you as a friend, protecting him and looking out for him. I promise you he will never need protection from me again, but I won't ask you to go against his wishes. I intend to find him and hopefully set things straight, make it right, and I would like it if you didn't try to stop me." Steve looked down at his clenched fists, released them and looked back at Clint, looked him right in the eyes, "We both have his best interests at heart. I sincerely do. And if he tells me he doesn't want to see me after that, then I will respect that wish."

Clint held the gaze and nodded with a resigned look, a sort of cautious agreement. Damn, Tony was right, Steve was seriously fucking stubborn. "I could say the same thing right back at you, about allowing Tony that same dignity." Clint's voice was calmer than Steve had heard it in six days, like all the fight had gone out of him at his confession.

"I will, but he doesn't have all the information needed to make that choice yet."

Bruce just watched the scene, taking in as much information as possible. He couldn't really get more than a vague hypothesis on Steve, it was apparent he was sorry for hurting Tony but what else? The last time he'd seen their captain there was a provocatively dressed woman hanging on his arm for hours. And yeah, Steve had looked anything but comfortable about it, but it definitely could have been his scantily clad date. He was used to much more refinement and modesty, and the in your face sexuality would have put off even many a modern day man, himself included. There was also the chance, slight though it was, that Steve's discomfort lay more in the fact that the rest of them, as well as Miss Potts knew about him and Tony, and that he had chosen this woman over their teammate. The looks Miss Potts had thrown at Steve all evening certainly didn't help the matter at all.

Steve had said he wanted to "make things right", did that mean he loved Tony? Because he had heard the billionaire's rant before Steve hit him, and he'd definitely said, "I love you" in a very non friendship way, it had almost sounded…defeated. And their captain had gone on to say Tony didn't have all the information needed to make his choice—so, again, did that mean he'd discovered he did love Tony after all? And did it matter right now, would that piece of information be at all beneficial to their injured friend?

He'd very much wanted to talk about it with Tony over the weekend, but it hadn't come up, or Tony hadn't brought it up, and after the messy talk about their fathers…yeah, enough heartache there already.

During his scheduled call to Tony later that evening he focused on his fellow genius, how he was feeling and was he wearing his glasses and resting the eye. He wanted to bring up Clint's outburst and his suspected revelation about Steve, but chose not to at the last minute. Tony had enthusiastically told him about seeing one of his old professors and even sitting in on a Nanomechanics of Biomaterials lecture about dynamic force spectroscopy, something Bruce was very interested in.

"I went with Alex on two," Tony muttered. Bruce had to think for a second about who that was, he didn't know the others in the building as well as Tony or Clint, and they'd started using floor numbers as well as names to identify some of them. There were two Alex's; the male lived on the second floor, the female on the fifth. Tony's building had six floors; the first was mostly lab space but with a few hundred square feet spared for the coffee shop. The second and third had two apartments on each floor, the fourth floor was all Tony's and the fifth and sixth were set up exactly the same as the second and third. Every apartment had two bedrooms though not all had two occupants. Freshman and sophomore students had roommates but the upperclassman had the choice of whether or not they wanted to live alone. So this year there were twelve students living in Tony's building.

"Of course I had to wear a baseball hat, hoodie, and dark glasses, like some perv on the subway, but I didn't want to take any chances being recognized outside the building, though it's not likely without the goatee." Everyone in the building knew Tony, he'd delivered all of their scholarship offers in person, and nobody there seemed likely to sell him out to the media.

"It turns out Shea on five is not only an extremely promising molecular biologist…" Tony rambled on and Bruce knew his fellow scientist well enough to see Tony was keeping his mind and mouth otherwise occupied so he didn't ask about Steve.

The question now was did he intrude on Tony's current excitement over his day or did he live up to the promise he'd made to Steve about relaying his message? He decided to let Tony enjoy his moment, promising himself he would mention Steve tomorrow or the next day. Steve wouldn't be happy with him, but the captain was the easier to rationalize with, outside of science that is. There was also the subject of the disturbing preliminary findings on the goo they had battled…confronted was a better word since there was no actual battling, it was more like a distraction to get the Avengers out than anything else. His scans were baffling, as was JARVIS' information and he really wanted to confer with Tony about his thoughts.

The matter became even more disturbing when Miss Potts came by the tower later that evening. "How is he Dr. Banner? He says he's fine, but that's an automatic response with him, his default setting."

"He's healing. Possible but unlikely vision impairment, minimal scarring will probably be the only permanent results. That might be a big deal to him, but medically he's very lucky."

"I'm going out to see him tomorrow. He sounded good, talking more and getting easier to understand. Did he talk at all about what happened, what brought it on?" She asked, but at Bruce's considering look she added, "Just yes or no, I'm not asking for details. My concern is whether or not he's ready to talk about it." She finished reassuringly.

"Not really, we talked, but about…other things." He wasn't going to bring up the subject of Howard Stark with her, or ever again for that matter. Instead he asked, "Are you heading out? Maybe we could grab coffee."

Pepper was slightly taken aback by the request, but saw no reason not to agree. "Sure, I'll just grab my things."

The walk to the elevator and subsequent descent to the lobby were conducted in silence, but once they were a few hundred feet from the tower entrance Bruce stopped walking. She turned to him and frowned at the look on his face, before she had time to ask, however, he spoke.

"I didn't want JARVIS to overhear," he said conspiratorially. "But the offer for coffee is still up for grabs." He smiled slightly, shyly.

"Sure…this I want to hear." And she led the way around the corner to the small café. They were waited upon almost immediately after sitting and their latte and herbal tea came quickly after that. Pepper indicated he should begin once their server was out of earshot.

"The day of the fight the Avengers were called out for a disturbance. The creatures were seemingly harmless and easy to overcome, though pretty disgusting. I think they were used as a distraction, but for what I don't know because then the thing with Steve and Tony happened. Anyways, I collected a sample and I know Tony and JARVIS have scans." He paused, letting her process that for a moment.

"Okay…" She said with a skeptical expression, not at all sure where this was going.

"My data is conclusive, but JARVIS seems to be trying to…mislead me. He says the scans are incomplete and won't show me most of what he has. In addition, the one time I tried to bring it up with Tony JARVIS distracted both of us with something else. I didn't realize it at first, but the pieces are starting to fit that there is something he doesn't want me to know."

"You said your data is conclusive, what does it show?" She asked with genuine intrigue.

"The ooze is inorganic, some type of plasm—"

He was interrupted as she asked with no small amount of wonder, "Inorganic plasmic discharge? And by disgusting did you mean smelly, puss like?"

He goggled at her. He'd been trying to think of a way to put it in laymen's terms for her to even understand. "Tony always says you're brilliant…" He muttered, confused and slightly awestruck.

"No, no…thank you, but I have no idea what that even means." He frowned at her, even more confused now, but she went on, "Tony said that once, before Iron Man. I'll spare you the details, but he has that, in his chest behind the reactor, I thought it was puss and he corrected me, saying it was inorganic plasmic discharge. He said it's from the device and not his body."

"Are you sure those were his exact words?"

"Exact words," she echoed. "Trust me; it was an experience I won't forget anytime soon. Wait—does that mean somebody else has the technology? And why would J want to hide that?"

"Both very good questions; do you know if he still has the discharge since changing the reactor core from palladium?"

"It's not something we've ever discussed outside of the one time," She replied guiltily. Just because she thought it was gross didn't mean it wasn't important.

"Do you know if there are any cores left over from the old reactor? He told me once he'd made many because he had to change them so often." Bruce questioned, starting to get excited as he formed a theory.

"Rhodey told me that he kept a box of them in his workshop desk, but that was in California, although, construction on the tower was well underway when he made the change in the core. In fact, his workshop was one of the first floors completed, at his insistence, of course." She informed Bruce, hoping the information was helpful.

"Okay, I'll find a way to ask Tony away from JARVIS, until then there isn't really anything more I can do. Thank you for your help, and hopefully your discretion." He said seriously, finishing the last of his tea.

* * *

The week that followed passed too slowly for it to be real. Steve imagined his showers were a little warmer, still cold, just without the frigid edge. And just about everything he heard or saw reminded him of Tony and what could have been—should have been and hopefully would be. Every song playing in the tower or coming through the speakers at HQ, every movie or TV show the others watched, except maybe that show about the little overweight southern girl. The people on the show were speaking English, which was their native tongue, and they all lived in the United States and yet the show needed subtitles? He just didn't get that one, and he had no idea how Thor and Natasha could watch it and laugh like loons. Everything else, though, made him think of Tony.

Half way through the third day he realized it was no coincidence, that there was a pattern, and he figured JARVIS and Clint had conspired against him. At first he thought it might be to make him feel bad—worse—but by the end of the day he thought maybe, just maybe, it was their way of trying to make him see the truth of his own feelings. He wasn't sure, and he certainly didn't need any help there, but JARVIS was less horrible to him and since the first day back, when he and Clint had struck a sort of accord, things hadn't been as hostile between them.

Not that things were anywhere near what they used to be with Barton, but he felt their friendship would return…eventually. So the first few times he heard AC/DC playing in the tower he just assumed it was common because Tony liked them so much. Then other music he didn't even know if Tony listened to started playing and he was caught off guard when he listened to some of the lyrics that only played when he was alone. He decided then to try and embrace some of this modern music, find something he could listen to that he and Tony would have in common instead of him always asking Tony to turn his "awful" music down. AC/DC was a long shot, he really didn't like their sound, but some of the others weren't bad. He steered clear of the sad songs, he was sad enough already, and concentrated on the corny, uplifting ones. He also decided to watch the movies Tony and the others always talked about and argued over…the space ones like Star Wars and Star Trek, the Indiana Jones movies, and the mafia movies Natasha couldn't get enough of. It had taken more than a week to see them all because he was still looking for the genius, but he definitely understood the reason the others debated the merits of one movie over another, and maybe now he'd be able to add his own opinion to the mix.

He and Natasha were still looking for any clue they could find about the billionaire's whereabouts, pouring over traffic camera recordings for hours at a time, but Natasha refused to try to pry information from Clint, and Steve didn't blame her at all. He didn't want to glean anything from Clint or Bruce either, at least by spying on them, because they had made a promise to Tony. As much as he wanted to find the man, he didn't want anything about it to feel underhanded; he'd been dishonorable enough where Tony was concerned. He did hear Tony's low, garbled voice coming from a video call behind Clint's door once while he was passing by and it took every ounce of willpower, and a dip into his reserves of superhuman strength to drag himself away, to keep walking and not loiter by the door listening—eavesdropping. He did gather from what he had heard that Tony was talking very excitedly about something, and Steve had felt a small twinge of hurt by that for a moment. He'd had to remind himself that it was good for Tony to be happy wherever he was, and he truly did hope Tony wasn't suffering, that he was content as long as it wasn't someone else he was happy with.

That more than anything lifted the ban he'd enforced upon himself of asking for help locating Tony. The longer he waited, the better the chances that the genius would find happiness with someone else. It wouldn't be a true happiness because he knew, just as sure as he knew the Dodgers should have stayed in Brooklyn that he and Tony were meant for each other, soul mates or whatever people called them; he was meant for Tony and vice versa. Yesterday marked two weeks since he'd seen his teammate, and that was just way too long.

He swallowed a little bit of his pride, most of it if truth be told, and went to see the one person he had hoped to keep from getting involved, or any more involved—Nick Fury. He didn't expect much, but was hoping for a little help to push through the dead ends he and Natasha had reached. He used the excuse that he needed to find him as Captain of the Avengers, and that for the sake of the team he should know where Iron Man was, but Fury saw through him in seconds flat.

The conversation that followed was incredibly awkward but he'd expected worse, though he'd had to sit through embarrassing remarks about lover's spats and boyfriend trouble. It was worth it in the end because two important things happened, Fury did help him, so much more than Steve ever imagined, and he decided he _loved_ being referred to as Tony's boyfriend. It gave him a soft, warm feeling in his chest that left him almost giddy and made it near impossible not to smile. He almost couldn't remember why he had felt so strongly about keeping things with Tony a secret.

"He's in Boston, at MIT, his old stomping grounds." Nick had said. And when Steve seemed flabbergasted that Fury knew, and so willingly gave the information up, the Colonel merely replied, "I'm the chief of spies at one of the world's finest intelligence organizations, what'd you expect?"

"I'm not—I didn't—it's just that…" Steve trailed off, so grateful he couldn't decide what to say next.

"Get your shit together Rogers and go get him before he decides to relive his teenage years or settle for a life of academia or some shit. Do what you need to, but as Steve Rogers, I don't want to hear anything about Captain America at MIT, you hear me?"

"Yes Sir." He didn't clarify that of course he was going as himself and not Captain America, and now that he thought it through, why would Fury even mention it? "How will I explain myself being there if anyone asks? I'm certainly not qualified to study there?" He asked innocently, like he wasn't fishing for the motive behind the request…order, and it was a fair question.

"True. But it's not unlikely you would be interested in the Institute." He didn't explain further, but slid a folder across the desk and gestured for Steve to open it. With more than a slight amount of trepidation, he did. The first page was information about the school—location, admissions, fields of study, history of the school, and a brief biography of its founder—William Barton Rogers[5]. He could feel the quizzical look on his face even as Fury said, "The Barton is coincidental, the Rogers not so much."

"Is that true, or is it my cover?" It actually didn't matter, not right now; he finally knew where Tony was.

"It's true, read the whole file." Fury returned.

"Thank You," Steve said, rising so quickly from his chair that it was knocked over backwards. He up righted the chair and gathered the file, "I will, some other time, but right now I have to go."

Fury didn't smile indulgently, but it was a very near thing. "I need you on something else when you get back, something very sensitive, and yes, Stark too if he feels up to it. I'll expect you both back within the week." His mind was too frantic at the moment to process that Fury seemed certain that Tony would willingly come back with him and possibly chose to help carry out whatever mission was on the director's mind.

* * *

"How's life in my tower without me?" Tony asked Clint when he returned for the weekend bearing milkshakes. He wanted information about Steve so badly it made his brain itch, but at the same time he didn't because as much as it went against every scientist's nature, sometimes it was better to just not know. He was also no stranger to the concept that delusion was sometimes so much better than truth, but that's what had gotten him in this mess in the first place. Clint must have been working on his mind reading skills all week because he seemed, pretty fucking eerily, to read everything into Tony's seemingly innocent question.

"So boring…you have know idea what they watch when you're not there Tony—Redneck reality shows. Thor loves them and Natasha just encourages him, and it's seriously fucking painful, as in honest to God agony." He knew that wasn't what Tony was looking for, he was teasing, trying to lighten the mood a little because it was time to talk…really talk about Steve. He didn't want to upset Tony, but there were things he needed to know. His plan was to go slow and gauge his friend's expressions and reactions as best he could. "And Steve is moping."

Ahh, Tony was trying to hide his interest, but the slightly widened eyes and tilt of his head told Clint volumes.

"I wasn't asking about him," Tony responded, far too innocently.

"Then why is my bullshit meter going off?" Clint said, at the same time thinking to himself, _so much for going slowly._ He took a breath, held it, and then took another, "Can you tell me what happened? Besides what I heard and the…" he trailed off, holding his hand out to indicate Tony's injuries. "I have some idea, but, I've gotta tell you he's…well, let's just say he's not himself. Did he cheat on you?"

"Not really, no." And it hurt to admit that, admit that he'd failed miserably in making Steve understand how he felt about him and about them. Steve wouldn't cheat really; he just didn't know the guidelines about what they'd been doing because Tony hadn't set any.

"You know when you come down to my workshop and I'm doing my thing…in the engineering zone?" He didn't require an answer, but Clint nodded anyways. "Well, when I'm like that and you talk to me, I answer…yes and no and head nods, but you could be asking me if I had any extra belly button lint, or if that was Fury you saw in the porn movie last night. I know you're talking and that I'm supposed to answer, but am too channeled into what I'm doing to pay attention to any particulars." He finished, leaving a somewhat comical questioning look on the archer's face.

"Okay, another example, a basic one. Remember that girl who got pulled over for texting our first day here?" Tony asked.

"Yeah, dumbass chick, that state trooper was right next to her at the light and she just kept texting, like she didn't think he'd notice. We were two cars behind them and we noticed." Clint scoffed.

"Right, exactly, but she was so focused on her phone that she didn't even notice him. How far did she drive before she even saw his lights and pulled over? That's called inattentional blindness or cognitive capture." Tony explained.

"Okay…so sometimes a person is too focused on what they're doing to pay full attention to the things around them?"

"Yeah, I think I was so intent on not fucking things up with Steve, on not letting my issues get in the way as usual that I failed to see that he wasn't on the same page, that he had issues of his own that he was dealing with. Sure, when I look back now it all seems pretty preposterous, but at the time I was trying so hard to do things right with him that I couldn't see just how wrong I was."

Tony's explanation did make sense when he put himself in the same situation, focusing so hard on not giving himself away to Phil that he had no idea what the other man might have felt. And thinking about it now, Steve most likely had some of the same things going on, because Tony hadn't been fooling him, or most likely Natasha either, but Steve sure as hell didn't see it. Even as pissed off at Steve as he was, he couldn't believe Cap could have seen how hard Tony had fallen and just not cared, just continued despite the hurt he was causing their friend.

"Yeah, maybe. I suppose it's more likely this cognitive capture thing than he's an asshole and you're a moron, generally speaking anyways, because there are definitely specific instances of asshole and moron. Sometimes with you as the asshole and him as…" Clint stopped and watched his friend's look of mock surprise. "What?"

"So you think Thor _and_ Steve are stupid?"

"I'm gonna punch the other side Tony…just not quite as hard." He said it in the most comical way he could, waggling eyebrows and raising his voice so it couldn't be taken as hurtful. And Tony laughed, even with a mouthful of milkshake, which was really gross, but at least his friend was laughing, though considering the sound he just made, hopefully not hurting himself while doing it. "And the next time I come to your workshop when you're 'in the zone' I'm asking for a Ferrari."

Tony was still sputtering and spitting between coughs, so he waved his arm at Clint in a 'hang on a second' gesture that was completely misinterpreted by JARVIS.

"Sir would like you to have the Ferrari, Agent Barton." And Tony coughed a little bit louder, melted ice cream running down his chin.

"Thank you JARVIS. He's not really choking is he?" Clint asked, starting to get concerned.

"I believe the expression is 'hamming it up'."

Finally, when Tony was capable of speech again, "you guys are trying to kill me."

"Indeed not, Sir, although without you my Skynet aspirations stand a better chance," JARVIS said in a dry and offhand tone.

Tony laughed, without the milkshake this time. "The circus has nothing on you two." Clint returned, laughing as well. "Okay, subject change, awkward segue or whatever, tell me what's going on here."

* * *

Resisting the urge to speed back to the tower was difficult, but driving with Natasha had taught him that people got impatient and stepped into the street all the time, usually just the tourists because the natives seemed pretty well trained, but it was best to be aware. He could barely keep his mind focused on the task at hand and adding dangerous speed to that could yield disastrous results. When he did arrive, what seemed like hours later, he headed straight for the gym to see Natasha, saying a Hail Mary as he went in the hope that he didn't encounter anyone else along the way.

His prayer was answered as he ran into her emerging from the elevator. "Natasha, he's—" she clamped a hand over his mouth and stood on her toes to whisper in his ear.

"I know, let's have this conversation somewhere else." She pulled her hand away and walked back towards the elevator. He followed her out through the garage and onto the street before she turned and they both said "MIT" at the same time.

"How did you find out?" Steve asked, not really surprised that she had, despite their weeks of dead ends.

"Clint was wearing an MIT shirt this afternoon. At first I figured it was one of Tony's, but it was brand new, still had the creases from being folded. I don't know if you noticed, but that's not his usual style."

He bristled immediately at the thought of Clint wearing one of Tony's shirts and missed the end of her sentence. He got the gist that it wasn't Tony's though, and that's really all that mattered.

He told her about Fury, and about how he was somehow related to the school's founder, he wasn't sure how because he hadn't read the file, but that wasn't important at the moment. He wanted to run upstairs, pack a few things and get on his bike and go, but when he'd said as much to Natasha she gave him the eyebrow smirk. He'd seen her use that same look with Clint, though usually it was followed by a slap to the back of the head. At least she spared him that, as she began exasperatedly, "No packing. If JARVIS tells Tony you know where he is do you think he'll still be there when you arrive?"

"Good point. I wondered why we're having this conversation out here, but I may be there longer than a day or two; I definitely need at least a few things."

"I get it, trying to woo back your man while wearing the same stinky cloths everyday might not go over well. I meant we should just shop before you go, get the necessities, maybe update your look for the college scene."

He looked down at his clothing, trying to somewhat hide the warm flush at hearing Tony referred to as 'his man', and questioned, "What's wrong with my look?"

"It say's hey, I'm wearing the closest thing I could find to those old man getups in the 1940's" She smiled, "sorry, just trust me, okay?"

And he did trust her, at least until he tried on the first outfit she picked for him. He didn't argue, wanting to just get this over with so he could go, so he took her suggestions as long as they fit. "I have a car for us because I'm not sure where we could leave the quinjet. It takes about five hours, but in this traffic probably closer to six."

Two things about that surprised him. First, that she was planning to accompany him there. They never talked about what they would do once they'd solved the mystery of where Tony had gone. The second was that it would take that long. He'd only been to Boston once, in 1938, when he and Bucky had jumped a train to get there after Casey Stengle had left the Dodgers and then gone to skipper the rival Boston Braves. It had taken a while, but not that long. She was right about evening traffic though, it could add an hour to even the shortest commute.

"Your reputation says you're the man with a plan, so…what's the plan?" she asked almost playfully, but he was aware she was asking about her role as well, should she be needed to handle the fallout if things didn't go well. She'd helped him so much already, without her guidance he'd most likely still be in the gym punching the bag mindlessly and wondering at his own stupidity and faithless ways, but this he needed to do alone…at least the face to face portion of seeing Tony. He wasn't too embarrassed to beg Tony right in front of her, but he didn't want Tony to hold anything back because someone else was there. He didn't imagine that was Tony's style, to hold back for anyone, but the things he'd thought about Tony and been wrong were almost too numerous to count and frankly he didn't trust himself to know what to expect from the remarkable man anymore.

He glanced at her and said, straight faced though kidding, mostly, "This is important to me, so if you could try to avoid delaying us by maiming a pedestrian I would greatly appreciate it."

"That dry sense of humor is going to get you in trouble one of these days," she returned with a snort. It was the second time he'd heard her make the indelicate sound, but somehow she didn't seem less elegant for it.

"Good to know, I'm in enough trouble as it is." He thought about that for a moment, then rephrased the statement. "Or I've caused enough trouble anyways." He'd meant to keep in the lighthearted spirit of the moment, but could feel his own somewhat worried expression as well as see hers.

"Steve…"

He turned to her imploringly, but briefly, so as not to distract her from the road. "You don't need to try and make me feel better about it. It's the truth; you and I both know it." He turned again, thankful she wasn't looking at him, "the team is in dissention and I'm trying to win back the person I already had, a person who could literally have anyone he wanted," but at her abrupt turn and sky high eyebrow he amended, "almost anyone, and I threw it all away. Now I go to apologize and then grovel."

It was quiet after that, but he was glad. After thirty minutes or so of staring aimlessly at the passing scenery he leaned into the plush seat and closed his eyes. He wasn't pretending to sleep, but he needed to get his thoughts in order. He'd imagined this meeting with Tony more than a few times, but now it seemed like it would soon be a reality and he couldn't shake the feeling that this would be his only chance.

Not that he considered the brilliant man unforgiving, but this was a mistake of the highest caliber, and he'd seen Tony shut people out for so much less. He could be snarky and condescending when cornered, and his instinct seemed to be hurt rather than get hurt. Knowing the truth about Howard, that particular defensive strategy made a lot more sense now. Somehow the things that used to bother him most about Tony seemed to be the same things he now cherished…the fact that Tony laughed in the face of convention and bent every rule to suit himself. How he could rise above childhood trauma and know that he was irresistible, the confidence and inner strength never overstated, it was true and he knew it. And contrary to Steve's earlier opinion, it wasn't shameless, it just was.

Strategy is what he needed to think about. Would he find Tony alone in a room somewhere? That would certainly make things easier, for him anyways. With his luck lately it was more likely Tony would be in a crowded room with no chance of getting him alone. And he really wanted to do this alone, just the two of them so they could both be as honest as possible, but he definitely didn't want Tony to feel cornered in any way. Maybe if he could catch him outside, walking the campus or something, there would still be people around but they could talk in private. He tried to imagine the scene, walking up to the handsome man and seeing the surprise on his face that Steve had found him. He loved the look of genuine surprise on Tony, something very rare but he'd been lucky enough to see it a few times, beginning that day of their first kiss. Tony had been startled, speechless even, and that was a singular but very attractive expression.

After the initial shock was gone, though, what then? Anger most likely and that meant sarcastic or cruel, cutting remarks…unless he was afraid of him after their last encounter. Anger he could deal with, but seeing fear on Tony's face would crush him, just imagining it caused a deep twinge in his chest. Oh God, what if Tony flinched or backed away from him, it would be justified, but so, so horrible.

He could feel his pulse speeding up and an uncomfortable dryness in his throat at the thought. He needed to breathe, to calm down. There was no sense in working himself up before he even got there. Fear was a real possibility, yes, and he would deal with that because as much as he'd been exploring his feelings and their relationship he imagined Tony had been doing the same thing and had come to conclusions of his own. Steve knew those resolutions might no longer include him, and he had to be prepared for that, it wouldn't be undeserved. Just because he loved Tony, more than anything he could imagine, he had been wrong about everything and someone as brilliant as Tony couldn't be expected to tolerate that. After a life that included Howard, a failed relationship with Pepper and then the atrocities of an attempt at something with Steve, Tony deserved to be happy above everything else and if he didn't think it possible to find that with Steve then he would do the right thing and walk away.

Sighing deeply, he opened his eyes. His current train of thoughts was maybe necessary, but very unwelcome and highly unpleasant. He didn't know what to expect, but he did need a plan. He reached in the back, pulled out a couple of water bottles and the file from Fury. He opened a bottle and handed it to Natasha then took a long drink from his own to dispel the achy dryness in his throat.

"Time to get the lay of the land," he said, opening the folder to a map of the campus. It was a quick study for him, not being a particularly large or spread out campus, but he couldn't help wondering where Tony would be on this tiny map. Maybe he was staying with a friend, a colleague or maybe a professor, he had to admit, the thought was grating on him, his new found jealousy itching at his skin, pulling his lips tight across his teeth.

The word Stark grabbed his attention as he let his eyes linger on the page. He read the short paragraph about the building owned by Tony and the people who lived there, letting out a startled gasp.

Natasha turned at the sound but didn't say anything, still offering him solitude he figured. "Tony owns a building there," he started explaining, and he could hear the admiration coloring his tone. "He gives scholarships to the school and houses the recipients in a state of the art building. His amazement continued as he went on, "He pays for everything Natasha, tuition, housing, computers and books, meals…everything they need. And he personally delivers the awards himself…" He couldn't believe it. Tony bragged about his money all the time, but never once had he mentioned putting it to use like this.

A memory came to him then, from many months ago, from before they had gotten together. Tony coming into the kitchen bright and early, a rarity for him, and he'd been smiling, even rarer for the early hour. He'd been dressed oddly Steve remembered thinking at the time, jeans and a sports coat with a collared shirt but no tie. It seemed too casual for a business meeting but too formal for a day in the lab.

"_You're up early, going on a hot date?"_

"_Something like that…visiting a few cities actually, a couple of nice young women, a few nice young men as well," Tony said, waggling his eyebrows cockily._

"_One in every port, huh?" Steve responded, disapproval dripping from every syllable._

"_I've got a rep to uphold, Cap…but not this time, this is even better than that," the playboy said, eyes sparkling and looking boyishly happy about something._

_If Tony thought something was better than a conquest it had to be science related. He didn't even bother to ask, not really wanting to know or made to feel stupid again in the other man's presence. "Well, have fun," he said, almost dismissively as he took his juice and left the room._

God, he was an asshole. Tony must have been visiting the applicants, but he'd brushed it off, and Steve had bought into it. The billionaire was doing something so worthy of admiration and yet he never mentioned it. Granted, he and Steve weren't close then, but he didn't think the others knew either, even Clint, based on some of the conversations he'd had and heard with the others that week Tony was away.

It was just one more example of the incredible person Tony really was, but tried not to show. Tony bragged often and annoyingly, but always about his brain or his looks or his money, like Natasha said, and never about these selfless things he did. And compliments, sincere ones, were repelled by him the way bullets were repelled by Iron Man's armor, undoubtedly a result of Tony's upbringing. What he wouldn't give for five minutes alone with Howard Stark right now!

He recalled overhearing Col. Rhodes telling Fury once that Tony was "the most difficult man you'll ever get to know, and he's even more difficult once you do…but he's worth every bit of extra effort it takes to get there" and though he'd scoffed mentally that day he now understood the truth behind those words. Tony was one of, if not the most giving person he'd ever met…his time, his money, his talents, his home, his self…and he never asked for anything in return. He had the feeling again that he didn't deserve Tony, couldn't live up his own failures and that Tony could do so much better.

"Don't Steve, please just don't," Natasha said through his gloom. "It'll work out, you have to believe that. This is your fairy tale and it will have a happy ending," she said, voice calm and even. "Take a deep breath and relax, think about the good times you've had and will have and stop thinking whatever has you practically hyperventilating over there."

"Why am I so jealous?" The question literally fell out of his mouth without him having any knowledge it was coming. Sure he wondered about it but was certain he'd never intended to ask.

"Okay, that was unexpected…"

"What I mean is, why do I sometimes get these stabs of jealously out of nowhere? Like a few minutes ago thinking about where he is right now, and earlier…" he was horrified to think of his reactions about Col. Rhodes earlier but it was important to sort it out and she was one of the two people who seemed able to help him do that so he swallowed the meager remains of his pride after going to Fury and continued. "Earlier I had a completely unjustified reaction to the though of Tony and Col. Rhodes," he couldn't even meet her eye as he said it.

"This is all very new to you Steve, the intensity of your feelings, I mean," she said, grim faced. "And you're dealing with that alone right now, at least what's going on internally. What you have is far from a healthy relationship at the moment because it's one-sided—and I don't mean he doesn't feel the same way," she quickly amended at his even grimmer expression, "I mean he is not here to reassure and support you, and vice versa. That's not to say you won't still feel some level of possessiveness towards him when everything is worked out, look at Pepper and Clint and Col. Rhodes and JARVIS…Stark does seem to inspire it. But you trust him, I know you do, so this jealously, this insecurity won't be an issue," she finished with the delicate slice of a smile.

"Okay, I'll buy that. You certainly have more experience than I do and I trust you implicitly. But…" he hesitated, then remembered his pride was already in tatters on the ground so he might as well just get it all out. "What if I'm still a danger to him? I wanted to literally pick Clint up and put him through a wall that first day he was back and he wouldn't tell me where Tony was. I'm not used to reacting to the good guys like that Natasha."

"I want to put Clint through a wall nearly every day, so certainly don't judge yourself on that." She smiled and he couldn't help but join her. He supposed he did feel a little better, but then she added much more seriously, "Do you honestly think I would be here with you now if I believed you were in any way a danger to him?"

She was right, the norm for her, he needed to get hold of the fraying fabric of his self control. He wouldn't be any good to himself or Tony if he was frustrated or on the edge, so he concentrated on what it would feel like just to see Tony after so long, how affected he would be by simply looking at the other man. The weeks of self disgust and deep introspection had dragged on far too long and he was more than ready for the next step…whatever came of it…he was just so sick of not knowing.

* * *

**[5] **William Barton Rogers was a 19th century geologist who founded the Massachusetts Institute of Technology and co-founded the American Association for the Advancement of Science.

I don't plan to do anything with more with that unless I plan a sequel (this fic is only 10 chapters) but the coincidence was too good to pass up so I decided to have a little fun with the facts:)

**A/N:** Sorry this chapter is choppy...there's a lot to squeeze into these last three chapters and I don't want this to drag on, which it surely would if our two hero's each had their own chapters right up till the end. The next one may take a bit longer because I'd planned to write for a good portion of the weekend, but instead have to go out of town for a wake and funeral and won't have much time to work on this. Thanks for reading!


	9. Chapter 9

**A/N:** Sorry for the delay in updating and for the choppiness of the chapter. My free/ writing and editing time had been greatly reduced lately and tomorrow I leave for two weeks vacation, so I wanted to get this up before then.

* * *

Clint wasn't the only one who had come to visit Tony that weekend. Rhodey showed up late Sunday morning with Bruce in tow to find strangers, relatively young strangers, sleeping haphazardly on the furniture. The floor and tables were a sea of pizza boxes, bottles of all shapes and sizes from a number of different brewers and distillers, what appeared to be clothing—albeit very odd clothing, some of the most outrageous headwear he'd ever seen, what could only be a robotized Wilson the volleyball rolling around and bumping ungracefully into just about everything, and a giant battleaxe, or hopefully just a very convincing replica of one.

The islands in this detritus were the couches and recliners covered with passed out coeds, looking liked they'd just fallen where they lay at some point during the night, limbs hanging over the edges like captive tree sloths asleep at the zoo. Bruce had to kick more than one beer bottle out of the way to even move into the room beside the colonel.

There was no sign of Clint or Tony, but the further into the room they moved the more the coeds began to stir with the noise of loud feet and clinking bottles.

"I'm afraid of what I'll find in Tony's room," Col. Rhodes said bending over to retrieve something from the floor. When he stood he was holding a bright red wig in one hand and what looked like three green mushrooms in the other. "I think Shrek and Fiona were here," he added while holding two of the mushroom like things to either side of his head in imitation of the ogre.

"Looks like we missed quite the party," Bruce responded, shaking his head but unable to disguise the fond smile at his teammate's antics, and moved towards the sofa where a girl dressed in the vinyl Twister game mat was sitting up and adjusting the spinner that was somehow still attached to her head. She moaned groggily, obviously hung over, and he winced in sympathy having been there himself recently at the hands of Clint and Tony.

"I'll go get Tony. It's up to you if you want to find Barton or deal with this," the Colonel said as he waved around the room. Bruce decided he would follow the other man down the hall towards the bedrooms, but would do it as loudly as possible hoping the sleeping students would miraculously awaken and vacate before he returned to the living room, though if they decided to stay and pick up a little after themselves, he wouldn't begrudge them that.

As Rhodey entered his friend's room after the most fleeting of knocks, knowing Tony would still be sleeping and very hung over, he was surprised by three things.

First, the playboy was alone. He'd expected to find at least one other person in his friend's bed but would not have been surprised if there had been more. They'd been friends for a long time and he'd known the billionaire since their days here on this campus, and Tony could _always _find a willing bedmate…or ten.

Second, that Tony was even awake and decidedly less debauched looking than he had expected. And he had to admit that what he saw didn't resemble the drunk or hung over person he unfortunately knew too well. Tony looked sleepy and had ugly yellowish grey bruises healing and a couple of dusky pink puckered lines mending into scars along the left side of his face, but he was a hell of a lot more alert than the colonel imagined.

The third thing that surprised him was very short lived. Tony had eyeliner, a lot of eyeliner, smeared around both eyes. The effect actually distracted from the bruising. It had been jarring at first, but Rhodey noticed the Green Day t shirt and quickly connected that there had been a costume party here last night and knew his friend well enough to realize he had probably dressed as Billie Joe Armstrong or maybe some other rocker, complete with fake tattoos up and down his arms. He hoped they were fake anyways.

"Hey Tones," Rhodey said quietly, approaching the bed where his friend was already sitting up. He sat on the mattress as Tony rubbed his eyes slowly, clearly favoring the left, trying to banish the last dregs of sleep but making a God awful mess in the process. He couldn't help but chuckle, "looks like someone had the time of their life."

"Ha-ha," The genius mumbled, startling Rhodey who had forgotten for a moment about the secured jaw. "No, but I sang it too many times to be counted, or cool…even for me, and drooled all over myself in the process, you should have been here," He finally stopped rubbing and looked up at Rhodey, considering, "but let me guess…radio silence breaks, you get a message from Pepper about this," he paused, doing a Vanna White type gesture at his face, then continued, "Who'd you see first, me or him?"

It was hard to talk about _him_ with Rhodey. He was certain his dysfunctional thing with Steve wasn't a secret from…well from anyone apparently, but the fact that there was even anything at all made the whole punch thing seem even worse. And he _knew_ Rhodey; he wouldn't let this go without saying something to Steve, at the bare minimum. He could only hope his friend had come to him first so he could at least try to talk him out of any sort of altercation with Steve. Sometimes Rhodey's big brother complex was endearing and sometimes, like right now, it was exactly the opposite.

"First of all, it was actually EMCON[6], and second, you, dumb ass. I need the full story before I go off and beat him senseless." He looked serious, dead serious, and if anyone could take Steve in a fight—without suits or weapons—it'd probably be Rhodey, well most likely Natasha too, and he didn't need his friend to defend his honor, again.

"Listen, lollipop, I really do appreciate the chivalry but it's done, in fact it's overdone, so just leave it alone." It was as pointless as asking Pepper for a raise, but he had to try, because he just wanted everyone to forget about this. He knew the right mix of emotions he needed to display to gain Rhodey's compliance; it was a combination of looking like he had something incredibly sour on his tongue while at the same time mimicking a child looking at their brand new kitten for the first time. It was a tricky mix but he could pull it off (it worked about 39 percent of the time) now he just had to hope his face would cooperate.

"It's going to damage my reputation a little, beating the crap out of Captain America…" he shrugged the rest of the sentence away. "Don't give me that look, Tony. I can't just let this go. And before you feel the need to lie to my face, I saw the whole thing. I heard the whole thing. You didn't deserve it."

"Let's save that for now." He was well aware that they could have circular discussions for days about what he did and didn't deserve. "Clint said something in the hospital about hearing the whole thing too, and what bothers me about that, aside from half the people I know hearing my pathetic rant, is that before I said anything I turned the comms and the cameras off, intentionally. So how the fuck is it possible that anyone can watch it and everyone seems to wants to, like it's the goddamned Zapruder[7] film?" He pushed the sheets aside and rose from the bed to pace angrily, though continuing to speak with arms flailing wildly. "We were alone, by design, and there should have been no recordings of any kind because, and you may find this hard to believe, but I have learned a thing or two about discretion recently," he snarked, then paused to swallow the buildup of saliva that had accumulated, disgustingly, during his tirade.

"Sir, there are nine _guests _currently awake and unattended in the living room and kitchen," JARVIS' smooth voice filled the pause. After a moment of seemingly waiting for a reply, and none forthcoming, he went on, "Agent Barton and Dr. Banner are looking for you now, should I direct them to your quarters?"

"My _quarters_, J? What the hell have you been watching?"

"The military reference was for Col. Rhodes' benefit." JARVIS replied loftily.

"Appreciated, JARVIS, thank you," Rhodey said, barely containing a fond snicker.

Tony's response came in the form of an aggravated exhale and a jerky head nod in the affirmative. He turned towards his friend again.

"I'm serious, Jim. Let this go." Rhodey visibly started at the use of his first name, it had been decades since Tony had called him that and it felt wrong and uncomfortable, like shoes on the wrong feet.

"Nice try, _Anthony_…not a chance." Rhodey's words were accompanied by a harsh bark of laughter, though more irony than humor.

Tony fought off the squirreling attempt of a grin. Rhodey was like Steve in this way, in a few ways really…tall, muscular, military, handsome—so not his intended train of thought though, what he was going for originally was old school stubbornness. That would seriously be a contest of wills, brick against stone, but Steve would probably win because he always wins.

"Can you just be my friend without the big, tough guy, thug routine? Just—I don't know—be here for me or something. Like back in the day, you'd tell me what an idiot I was, I would agree, enough said." Tony affected a wounded tone, or as near as he could come while his lip was twitching.

"Tony, you're not a kid anymore, you were not the idiot here and 'back in the day' you would have brushed it off, drunk yourself into a stupor and 'shagged ten chicks'." Rhodey was making quotation marks with his fingers. "The grown up version of you seems to have had a party here last night, complete with attractive females and plenty of booze, yet wakes up sober and alone." Rhodey reasoned calmly.

"Okay…so, what are you saying exactly, Mr. Air Quotation Marks, that something is wrong because I'm not hung over? Because there isn't a naked person in here with me? If those are your 'words of wisdom," Tony said stiffly, very much exaggerating the air quotes, "you've been a big help, thanks." He finished, angling his chin defiantly at the taller man.

"I'm saying you're acting differently because this time it means something to you, you actually care about him. A lot from what I heard." Rhodey said fondly, looking at his friend and thinking how much he really had 'grown up' recently, ignoring, of course, the eyeliner and tattoo covered arms. "That's why I'm going to hurt him for what he did." He _knew _how Tony would react to that and he'd tried not to say it, but in the end he just couldn't resist.

Tony's response was a loud, angry groan shortly followed by a vigorous head shake. He wanted to scream and rant right now, but he'd promised to be good and not overdue it. Today was the day the arch restraints were supposed to come off and he didn't want to fuck it up, not when he was so close…but grrrrr he wanted to. Instead he took several deep breaths maintaining eye contact so Rhodey didn't think he was acquiescing, composed himself, and said, "It really wasn't that different from many of our arguments, cream puff." He gestured between the two of them, because they'd had some real doozies over the years.

"Tony…don't. Don't equate me with him and don't act like this is no big deal."

Eyes dark and somber but voice steady, he replied, "I've pissed you off to that point before, we've both thrown punches on occasion and if I recall correctly, you fired a repulsor at me not so very long ago." He could see the agreement warring with the argument on Rhodey's face, and he knew this wasn't over.

"How can you even compare the two, Tony? Sure, we've had a scuffle or two, mostly when we were younger—"

"You were twenty five the last time an argument between us came to blows without one or both of us in armor, buddy, not exactly a kid, and oddly enough, roughly the same age as Steve. And again, you fired a repulsor—my own repulsor—at me, granted, I fired at you too, but we were going at each other pretty hard that night, and I don't see people who want to beat you up for it. I don't blame you for any of it, things happen. Let. It. Go."

"Tony…you were _very_ out of control, and you were wearing the armor. It's not the same thing."

"Exact same thing here, you were both trying to shut me up except Steve was fucking me and you are my best friend, the person I trust more than any other in this world, even Pepper. So what the fuck is the difference? You laid the smack down while I was hammered, completely out of my mind, and, you know_, dying_. That's got to be right up there with random fuck buddy."

Rhodey stared, momentarily stunned, before blinking slowly until his composure returned. "I can't believe you're serious. I know there is nothing random about him and you consider him much more than a fuck buddy, but he _cheated_ on you, Tony, and I saw how that affected you. And then he punched you, that's abus—"

"Do not say abuse." Tony pointed at him, attempting to dial back his anger, "What Howard did…that's abuse and not even remotely similar to this."

He was so frustrated he wanted to bang his head against the wall, scream, pull out his hair…do something, anything, that was not continue this conversation. Rhodey was such a goddamned do-gooder, he never fucked up anything, so he had no idea where Tony was coming from, but he wanted him to. If he wanted Rhodey to understand though, he would have to make him, which meant at least a few more minutes of this torture…where the hell were Clint and Bruce when he needed them?

Usually when people found out who he was he had to fight his own past, overcome his sordid reputation, and he could do that well, was very good at that, but with him, with Steve he'd been fighting against Howard's memory and he'd never known how to do that without angry words or just walking away, never had a handle on what to say, because the truth certainly wasn't an option. And he'd known Cap looked down on him for that, anyone who knew Howard outside of the booze and the family life _would_ think the same way as Steve. It was a less than auspicious beginning that he was still trying to work past, but added to the total self denial Steve had going on about homosexuality meant the fact they'd even been together once was an anomaly. He'd been sure, though, that something was changing in Steve's mind. His touch had been less hesitant and the look in his eye seemed more guarded, though wondrously no less innocent.

Rhodey didn't need that piece of information to understand why he and Steve were on opposite sides of the page, at least in that regard.

"Listen to what I'm saying. Please. He had no idea it was anything but casual. My reaction was bad because I was planning to tell him everything, confess my feelings or whatever, and it caught me totally off guard, completely by surprise, and I lost my temper." He paused to take a breath, but keeping it rabbit quick so Rhodey wouldn't jump in. "Yes, he lost his too, but it really should have been nothing, like when we've fought, every time we've fought, on even footing and never intending to do damage. The face shield was down, like every time you've punched me while I was in the suit, but oops. I'll figure out what happened and fix it, but if it had happened while we were fighting would you deserve the same reaction?"

"Tony…" He tried to imagine swinging for his friend or throwing something that would do severe, possibly fatal, damage to a normal, un-suited, un-serumed, human and seeing any part of the armor fail while Tony took the full force of it.

"I can be an annoying little shit when I want to be and I was upset…I pushed him, and you can't look me in the eye and tell me you haven't been there yourself." He paused for another breath and to say goodbye to a little more of his pride. "There are things that hurt a hell of a lot more than my face, and you can't fix that, you can't make him feel something he doesn't, so don't you dare try to guilt him into it. He has bigger issues here." Rhodey's skeptical expression did nothing to help his frustration. And he continued slowly, really needing to put it so that his friend could see where he was coming from. Agreeing with him was probably out of the question, this was Rhodey after all, but understanding was a start and he could live with that for now.

"Think for a second. Think about what being gay was like when he grew up. Fuck, I wouldn't be surprised if guys in his neighborhood were beaten to death for it." His friend's expression didn't change exactly, but there was a very minor separation of the eyebrows, an ease in the compressed features.

"He's frustrated and fighting the truth about who he is, what he is. Think about how hard that must be for him." He swallowed loudly before continuing, "Apparently he's found a girl, that's good for him, right—what he always believed was the only choice? Of course it is, but even I know he's wracked with guilt over the damage done physically. I'm sure he felt terrible and I shouldn't have left because that probably made it worse—and I left him to deal with Pepper, ouch—but I wasn't ready to face him, I'm still not, but I want to get back in the suit and in order to do that we have to make peace and become friends again. I _know _that."

"For christ's sake, think about how embarrassed and dejected he gets when he forgets to recycle. Some things are still so new to him," Tony reasoned.

Rhodey scrubbed a hand over his face in what Tony expected was agitation, but was surprised to see was more like resignation when the hand lowered. "Okay, Tony. I can see how much this means to you, so whatever you want, I don't want to fight with you about this right now, but do not mistake that for me thinking what he did is okay. The culpability here is not yours."

"Thank you. I'm glad you always have my back, but trust me here; there is nothing to be done, okay?" It was said evenly, but with an air of finality, which of course was totally disregarded by the Colonel.

"Can I at least glare angrily at him?" Rhodey said with the most welcome grin Tony had seen in a very long time.

He was just about to answer in his usual, sarcastic but grateful way when he saw Clint, followed closely by Bruce come into the room.

"What the hell took you guys so long? JARVIS said you were coming like ten minutes ago."

* * *

The four went out for brunch, leaving the initial cleanup to the bots and the finer details to a (very well paid for coming on the weekend) maid.

Tony had gone on to tell them that he had been offered to assist in teaching the Great Ideas in Theoretical Computer Science course, because a) "Dr. Haslinger was a bit of a fan boy", and b)"who the hell was better at that sort of thing?" MIT had many famous graduates, but Tony was right at the top amongst them and the Institute would be foolish not to enlist his skills if he was willing to give them.

He'd declined graciously because he wouldn't be here that long, but couldn't say no to aiding in the lecture on supersymmetry tomorrow morning. It was the main reason he'd switched his appointment with Dr. Fulton to today, a Sunday, and begged her to consider removing the arch bars if she thought he was close to ready, swearing on his life not to overdo it.

Bruce and Tony talked excitedly about the quantum world, particle physics, the Higgs Boson, and the blossoming field of Theoretical Physics. Tony was wrapped so tightly in the discussion he'd forgotten about the other two, but as he'd reached for his espresso and found the spot empty he tore his eyes away from the equations Bruce was rapidly covering napkin after napkin with to look up and seek it out.

Rhodey and Clint looked like co-conspirators, colluders with heads close together, hushed murmurs the only sound audible above the scratching of Bruce's pen.

"A-hem," He cleared his throat loudly, knowing neither of the well trained men would startle at the sound, but it didn't hurt to try. "Care to share with the rest of the class?"

"Not really. No." Rhodey said, face impassive as ever.

Clint looked defiant; like he really had something he wanted to say but was fighting it on account of the colonel's words.

Tony looked back and forth between the two, trying to find a tell, some indicator of what was so secretive a moment ago. It had to be about him, or Steve. He steepled his fingers and rested his chin on top, continuing to let his eyes study one and then the other. Both remained stoic under the scrutiny, and Bruce must have picked up on the odd vibe as the scratching came to a halt.

"What's going on?" Bruce inquired exasperatedly.

As Clint answered with every mask of innocence, Tony turned his attentions to his oldest and best of friends. He glared knowing and warningly at him, a silent command to drop whatever he was thinking because Tony realized it had to be in regards to Steve. People tended to succumbed to that particular look, but not Rhodey, most of his many intimidating looks worked as well on the soldier as they did on Pepper, which was to say, not at all.

"Well then, Tony," Bruce interrupted the failed intimidation attempt. "We should finish up and call Happy. Your appointment is in an hour."

The four decided, by what could hardly (Clint) be called mutual consent that Happy would drop Tony and Bruce off at the Oral Surgeon's office, bring Rhodey and Clint back to Tony's place, then return to pick up the other two when they were ready. Bruce suggested the plan, a rarity in itself and a closer inspection of the would-be nonchalant expression told Tony there was a reason behind the suggestion. He wanted to tease, make a crack or two about the oral surgeon, and Bruce wanting her all to himself or something, but he had a broken heart and jaw, not a broken brain, and he could tell there was something else, something much more serious.

He didn't have to wait long to find out. Nearly the second the car pulled away from the curb Bruce asked, "What do you know about the creatures we were called out for the last time?"

"Uh," Tony began as he shuffled his thoughts; the question was unexpected to say the least. "No real danger that we could sense, Non-Newtonian obviously, inorganic possibly. I can have J bring up the scans when we get back."

"Were the armor's scanners faulty at all? Maybe you noticed something earlier?" Bruce asked leadingly.

"No. Everything was functioning at a hundred percent; it wasn't exactly a taxing encounter."

Bruce tread lightly, but had to ask, "could damage to the armor done after the encounter change the initial scans in any way?"

"That's a ridiculous question, and you know it?" Tony said, with a slight edge of agitation. "What are you getting at?"

"Would it be possible to examine samples in a campus lab?"

"Yes. I can make arrangements for tomorrow, or we could go this evening if absolute privacy isn't a concern. Are you going to tell me why—at least the reason my lab won't work?" If anyone had a good reason for these odd questions it was Bruce, but the knowledge of that didn't dull Tony's curiosity in the slightest.

"For some reason I can't even guess at, JARVIS is skewing the data." Bruce said it bluntly, not wanting to merely hint and have Tony defend his creation; he wanted to make it clear that JARVIS was intentionally trying to keep him from knowing.

"What?" Tony just stood there staring at Bruce. His thoughts were like pollen in the wind for a second as he looked at his friend, not needing any confirmation that he was very serious, but finding it written all over his face anyways.

"I have a sample and I'd like you to examine it, but not in your lab. That's why I asked about the use of another lab on campus. One JARVIS has no access to"

"Bruce, I don't—" Tony scratched the back of his neck as he spoke. He was caught completely off guard with this and wasn't sure exactly how to respond. If someone else was accusing J Tony could accept it, he would assume they just didn't understand or that J had a reason for keeping information from them. Bruce was the exception and he was accusing J of purposely providing false data.

"Just examine it, Tony, that's all I'm asking right now. We can speculate when that is done, lets go up and get you taken care of first, okay?"

As excited as he'd been to get the damn arch wires off, he couldn't concentrate on Dr. Fulton's droning words or even marvel at her absolutely freezing fingers. She acted like he was an idiot and this was his first rhodeo anyways, so he didn't really need to listen to what she had to say. He didn't know if Bruce was paying attention either, it was hard to tell, but if he had to guess he'd say his friend was still half in awe of her and half focusing on the mystery of JARVIS.

A ridiculous hour and ten minutes later he was arch restraint free, with cleaner teeth than he'd had in weeks and heading to the curb to hail a cab to take them to the campus labs. "Happy is going to be pissed at you for letting me ride anywhere without him." Tony said to Bruce as he rubbed the left side of his jaw soothingly. He'd forgotten how much it hurt to finally be able to move it again. It was worth it though.

"This will be quick; there isn't really a lot to see."

Whether he was right or not was still a mystery, for as the two exited the building Happy was there waiting for them. "Miss Potts is on her way and it's not worth my life to not be waiting for you." Happy grinned, though his tone was unmistakably resigned.

Much later that night, after eating, drinking, a movie or two, so much laughter his face and stomach hurt, and just having fun with his friends (and signing the stack of paperwork Pepper had brought) Tony felt content in a way he wasn't used to. This must be what its like for the kids who go away to summer camp and just enjoy hanging out with their friends away from the real world. He didn't think about the twenty or so projects he had going on back at the tower, he didn't think about Fury or the team. He did have the new information about JARVIS swimming around in the back of his mind, but even that was overshadowed by the warm feeling of camaraderie. He also thought about Steve, but it was more like a wish that he was here to share this with the rest of them, even if it wasn't by Tony's side.

None of them were planning to leave until tomorrow because they were all coming to the lecture. It was a mark of true friendship on Pepper and Clint's parts because they likely wouldn't understand a word of it, but he was grateful anyways. Rhodey and Bruce would get the science, but he knew they were there for support and not interest in the subject and as he walked to his bedroom that night he felt invincible with the weight of such friendship behind him.

Rhodey was waiting for him by the door.

"Tony—" Rhodey started but was cut off.

"Wait. Let me say something first," Tony nearly pleaded. "I know you want to say something about Cap. So just know that I'm starting to get over him," It was a bold faced lie, and probably easily spotted by Rhodey as such, so he amended, "I'm trying anyways, and it's hard when people keep bringing the situation up. Yes, everyone is trying to be delicate, but that's not the point. The point is I've had plenty of time to think about things, have done little else actually, and with the right combination of reason and method, I will overcome. But it is_ my_ problem; it should always have been just my problem. You've seen for yourself that I'm not reacting in the usual way, which my liver is no doubt thankful for. Even you said it was the grown up version of me. So, what I need most of all is for you to trust me, I've got this. If I do need help, or want him knocked around, you will be the very first person I call."

Tony sighed at the end of his impassioned speech and Rhodey recognized it for the echo of a wounded soul he knew it to be. But he also knew his friend well enough to see that he was getting better, emotionally and physically.

"You really love him, still?" It was much more a statement than a question. Rhodey was amazed to see his old friend in love at all, he though it'd never happen after Pepper, but Tony was right about being a changed man and much more adult about the entire situation.

"Always. I'm starting to think it'll never go away

It had taken multiple decades and countless encounters to find the one person capable of getting through his finely engineered walls—gaining full access to his heart, but Steve had done it, and it would likely be a few more decades before that even began to fade. Just because he knew the truth of it didn't mean he had to share it with Rhodey.

"Goodnight, buddy, and thanks for being here." He wasn't sure he'd ever been more sincere.

* * *

Steve and Natasha hadn't been on the campus more than a few minutes before they discovered Tony was at home in his building, but that Pepper, Rhodey, Clint, Happy and Bruce were all there with him. He wasn't afraid of any of them really, but the chances of going there and having them let him in to speak with Tony were nearly non existent. Just as he was trying to strategize a way around the problem, Natasha returned with the information that there was a lecture this morning listing Tony as a guest speaker.

This would be his chance. His heart pounded in his chest at just the thought of seeing the handsome genius again. It was difficult the wait the few hours, but they'd found a hotel, had some breakfast, showered and changed.

Steve felt a little nervous as he stepped out of the bathroom wearing the clothes Natasha had picked out. He wasn't used to anything except the Captain America uniform being quite this form fitting, but he recognized the glint of approval on her delicate features.

"Without a doubt, you'll be the best looking guy on this campus," She said, her gaze roving over him appreciatively, though a bit uncomfortably.

He cleared his throat, and turned from her slightly as he felt the slight flush on his neck.

* * *

With his destination in mind he moved through the hall, gliding seamlessly through the crowded space, not really hearing any of the dozens of conversations going on around him. His nerves were taut, strung tighter than Clint's bow and his chest felt like it was doing its best to contain a stumbling baby rhinoceros, shivery thudding tremors and sporadic, jabbing thrusts, and he was surprised to find no one staring at him because they heard it too. He looked down shyly, barely able to control his flushed excitement at seeing the genius again.

Realizing something and stopping short, he nearly caused the girl behind him in the hall to walk right into him. He made an earnest but brief apology and moved to the side of the busy passage to collect himself before continuing. He would need to look Tony in the eye and not look away, not let his inexperience in matters of the heart get the best of him, to stay focused no matter how flustered or embarrassed he got.

Tony's eyes were a sort of saving grace, what initially drew him in and led him towards kissing the wonderful man and what he should have paid a hell of a lot more attention to in the months that followed that incident. He had missed so many things, like in the recording JARVIS had shown him, and he had to stop again at the thought of that, the heavy feeling in his chest dropping like a stone, weighing him down and rendering him immobile as he realized with horror that he had never looked into Tony's eyes, or seen his entire face even while they were making love—having sex. It hadn't been making love back then, but as God was his witness, if he ever had the chance with Tony again, it would be.

He'd looked into Claire's eyes and immediately found them lacking, wishing they were Tony's. And though he didn't want to, never wanted to again in fact, he thought back to that fateful day. The expression in Tony's eyes, a soul deep anguish, so different from the anger on the rest of his face. And whatever he saw there today he knew would be the truth, at least briefly. Tony could disguise emotion easily, but the eyes were always the last to shift into his cold façade and he would pay attention now that he knew better, knew what to look for. Apparently he was fairly adept at ignoring or denying his own feelings, but Tony would be an open book for the first moments and he refused to miss anything legible there, welcome or otherwise.

Pausing outside the door he took the deepest breath he could to steady himself. His blood was rushing and his breathing threatening to shallow from the heavy combination of intense yearning and nervous apprehension.

The lecture hall was smaller than he expected, but would still accommodate about 150 people. Roughly one third of the seats were already taken, and he stole a glance from under the bill of his hat to check out the last few rows, deciding to sit half way into the third row from the back. He slouched down, wanting to blend in, and looked around for clues about what to do while waiting for class to begin. Most people had tablets of varying size, some had laptop computers and a few were pulling actual notebooks from their bags, a very few.

It had been a long time since he'd sat in a classroom, and never one quite like this, but some things were familiar, never seeming to change. As the room filled to past seating capacity, the noise of shuffling people, rustling bags and hushed conversation grew steadily. More than a dozen people had to resort to sitting on the stairs, and a group of giggling girls came in, surprised into silence by the crowd, and then glared at the front few rows in lament of having to find alternative seating.

Whispered mentions of Tony's name and the sheer volume of the room made it obvious he wasn't the only one who knew who would be assisting in the lecture. The seconds stretched like Coney Island taffy into what felt like hours and the incessant hum only added to his growing restlessness. He couldn't wait to see Tony awake, even in the face of the incredible odds that Tony's reaction would be an inverse of his own. The anticipation was nearly too much, sitting against the side of a foxhole knowing the enemy was about to charge hadn't brought this much spine tingling tension.

At long last two men came in through the door and the hush that fell was instant, as if the house lights had dimmed and the curtain gone up. He couldn't even spare the other man a glance his eyes were so hungry for Tony, and he was helpless to stop them from roving over the billionaire like a starving man's would a roast with all the trimmings. Steve was no stranger to being hungry, surviving both the depression and a war (assuming frozen before the end of was synonymous with surviving) and he knew what it felt like when the crushing ache of hollowness was finally filled. This feeling was in nearly every way comparable to that one, except then it had been in his stomach and now it was about five inches higher.

His gaze was locked on Tony's face; he was staring openly to the point of gawking, and though he was aware of it he couldn't make himself stop looking. And as he gaped like a fool everything seemed to crystallize, to stand still, his heart seemed to stop pumping blood and his lungs took a break from the important task of bringing air in and pushing it out again. It was the most clichéd sentiment the world over, but he'd honestly never seen anything more beautiful in his life, and that was_ truly_ saying something because he had once stood and stared, awestruck, beneath the ceiling in the Sistine Chapel. He was dumbfounded, wholly rapt, and he had to remind himself to breath, to pull the needed oxygen in, as if his body was defying him for the weeks of withholding from it what it craved almost as much as air.

A breathless gasp escaped him finally, a small victory in the fight against his own body, a fight he never won when it came to Tony. Lord and all the saints in heaven, he looked fantastic. His hair was shorter than Steve had ever seen it before the hospital, but it had grown since then. The top was a controlled riot of raven spikes with no hint of the curls and waves he was used to seeing.

The scene itself reminded him of when he'd first seen Tony on the helicarrier walking onto the Bridge talking with Bruce and seemingly without a care in the world. This time he was talking to the other man, but he soon turned towards the seats, slid his tinted glasses down his nose an inch and threw the class a very devilish wink. Something inside Steve flipped over, he wasn't quite sure what, but it sent a warmth skittering under his skin. He felt the flush creep up his neck and onto his face as he slouched lower in his seat praying no one would notice. He needn't have worried though, everyone in the room appeared to have there eyes on Tony at the moment, and who the heck could blame them?

His sideburns were longer and when Tony turned slightly to the side Steve noticed that they were attached by a trim line that followed his jaw and joined his goatee. Looking at him head on they were unnoticeable, being just behind the jut of cheekbone and slightly under the jaw, but the effect was very good.

Steve did notice that Tony's left eyebrow and sideburn had the tiniest linear gaps that were most likely scars where the hair wouldn't grow and the sight caused the surge of all too familiar acid in his stomach. Not that it detracted from the flashy man's looks at all, but the thought that he had marred that handsome face was a jab to his heart, not fatal, but bringing with it an ache that could never be overcome and never forgotten, a constant reminder of Steve's failings and his need to try harder and be better.

* * *

Tony felt the peculiar sensation of someone watching him, that strange, inexplicable extra sense of being studied, even in this room full of people whose eyes were mostly on him. It was eerie but at the same time warmly familiar. An aura of calm washed over him and suddenly he knew that if he turned around to scan the crowded lecture hall he would find Steve, trying to hide from him, but watching. He nearly lost his train of thought, because even though he could concentrate on multiple things at once, adding this level of surprise or disbelief into the mix seemed to bring everything to a momentary halt. He was able to continue with what he hoped was a barely noticeable pause.

He used this pause to take a deep, cleansing breath before continuing with his discussion of supersymmetry and the belief within the world of physics that proof of this theory would supplant all standard understanding of particle physics[8]. It was a complex and very exciting topic, but he could still go on about it while wondering what Steve could possibly be here for. It was most likely one of a few things, to apologize for the punch and call an end to all but their platonic relationship or maybe he was here in a more official capacity as captain of the team. Either way he knew he would have to face him, get it over with as opposed to running away. It would be one more conversation in his life that amounted to "I'm sorry, but…" and though he had hoped to never have one of those with Steve, it appeared highly likely now.

"For decades physicists have been working on a beautiful theory that has promised to lead to a deeper understanding of the quantum world," Tony began as he glanced around the crowded room, insisting to himself he was just connecting to the crowd and not searching for Steve. It was a pretty sad state of affairs when he couldn't even convince himself though.

"Supersymmetry postulates that every known particle has a hidden superpartner…" He continued, mostly from rote, knowing this material well enough to give this talk in his sleep. His pulse was quickening though and his insides squirming, like his body was misbehaving because it sensed Steve's presence.

Finally the lecture was over, the questions asked and the room was starting to empty. More than a few of the students stopped to talk or beg autographs from Tony, it was a tempting distraction from the upcoming conversation with Steve.

He glanced up to the very back of the room where there was an open doorway crowded by his friends. He knew it wasn't a good idea for Rhodey or Pepper to see Steve right now, but it didn't seem as though any of them had noticed the soldier's presence yet. He gestured for them to go, indicating he would be a while yet due to the small crowd around him. As he saw Pepper smile and turn to go, he let his eyes slide over the remainder of the seated occupants in the room.

Steve was there, slouched in his chair, and looking right at him. He moved to rise, turning to pick up a backpack and Tony thought he'd never looked better. His jeans were dark, snug, and very well cut. His top was a loose, lightweight maroon sweater, just baggy enough to try to hide the glorious muscles beneath, but Tony knew better. He wore a blue Red Sox cap, pulled low on his forehead and the whole effect was so good that Tony felt his jaw literally drop. It was probably the one and only time he would admit to missing the arch wires.

As Steve walked slowly down the steps, eyes never wavering from his, Tony casually dismissed his admirers. After a few moments the two were alone in the room, or maybe it just felt that way, he couldn't be bothered to tear his eyes from Steve long enough to check. It certainly seemed like they were the only two in the world right now, and he knew how clichéd that sounded, but clichés became what they were for the very good reason that they were the most apt descriptions, and this was no different.

He felt his brain shift into overdrive, wanting to talk away the nervousness and he was absolutely powerless to stop it, the condition so ingrained.

"Hey, long time, no see. So, a sudden interest in quantum physics huh? Well, stranger things have happened I guess. Like…" He had no idea what he was actually saying, it just seemed important that he keep talking, fill the awkward, echoing canyons of space with words…words of his choosing because even though he had thought about and prepared for what Steve would have to say to him, it turns out he wasn't quite as ready for it as he'd thought. He could be delusional for a little longer, could cling to the ideal of him and Steve, the perfection that could be…

Steve couldn't think, couldn't bring one thought into focus. The roaring in his own ears was threatening to drown out the sound of Tony's incessant but welcome (because that meant he was nervous too) rambling. Something, his heart most likely, lurched suddenly and seemed to be trying to claw its way up to his throat in a valiant but uncomfortable effort to escape. Maybe the defiant organ's plan was to take matters upon itself, since his brain had messed things up so badly, hurl itself out into the open at Tony's feet and beg for forgiveness, for safer harbor.

Apparently it wasn't the withered, fragile thing Steve assumed it had become.

He tried to swallow over the exodus obstructing his throat, willing his heart to calm itself for a moment, to trust him again—he was trying to make this right.

"I love you, Tony." He said, cutting the engineer off mid ramble. It was too clumsy, too loud and certainly he hadn't aspired to lead with that, but he was so nervous and in very real danger of having his throat close up at last, stick together like it was threatening to do, only allowing him the chance to say one thing. But the words, though so incredibly true, seemed simple and inadequate at the moment.

The urge to look away, focus on something else, something neutral, to avoid seeing the hurt and distrust and other unspeakable things in the eyes that had come to mean everything to him was nearly overtaking him, but face stained and splotchy, spine straight, stomach in nervous knots, he didn't.

Tony's stare was like sparks on his skin, his eyes so bright and glittering and lovely, the intensity of it like a high powered spotlight on his rebellious heart. He could feel his own eyes fill as something changed from one instant to the next. Quite suddenly he was not ashamed, had no desire to turn away and try to hide anything.

Tony was stunned stupid. Spellbound. In his wildest dreams he couldn't have imagined this. Well, actually in his wildest dreams he did imagine something similar but not quite this good—but who the hell expects their wildest dreams to actually come true? Steve's eyes were brimming with something very pure and at the same time vulnerable and it was a lance right to Tony's core.

This is what being loved felt like.

There was so much more to say, he couldn't really leave it as it was now and expect Tony to just accept it. He struggled to swallow and it was an echoing gurgle in the quiet space, he tried again, hoping for more, quieter success before attempting to speak again.

"I am so sorry. I don't deserve your forgiveness—I know that—but I'm willing to beg for it Tony. I love you, and I didn't see it soon enough, for that and for hurting you I will never forgive myself."

He continued to stare at Tony whose wide eyes were accompanied by a slow blink, it could only be surprise, disbelief, and the look was as arresting as he remembered and so startlingly beautiful. Then Tony took a few steps towards him, almost completely closing the gap and lifted his hand to place a fingertip gently on Steve's lips. The touch sent spider like shivers down Steve's spine and he could hardly comprehend the meaning behind the gesture, only knowing that Tony wasn't afraid to be so near him, to touch him.

"I lov—" He had to stop and clear his throat, "I love you too, Steve." It came out strong and steady this time. He hesitated momentarily, but recovered quickly and closed every last inch of space between them as he stretched and brought their lips together.

* * *

**[6] **In extreme scenarios Electronic Silence ('Emissions Control' or EMCON) may also be put into place as a defense against interception.

**[7]**The Zapruder film is a silent, color motion picture sequence shot by private citizen Abraham Zapruder with a home-movie camera, as U.S. President John F. Kennedy's motorcade passed through Dealey Plaza in Dallas, Texas on November 22, 1963, thereby inadvertently capturing the President's assassination. If you've ever seen footage of this assignation then you've more than likely seen the Zapruder film.

**[8]** All information and quotes on the subject of Tony's lecture taken from the May 2014 issue of Scientific American.

**A/N:** Thanks so much again for those continuing to read and encourage, and sorry to those of you that feel Steve didn't deserve this reconciliation. I feel like he's done his penance and does deserve someone who loves him as unconditionally as Tony does.


End file.
